


The Golden Girl and the Dragon

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, F/M, Fluff, Hinemoa and Tutanekai, Humour, The Mourning Madam's Where Gods Dwell Dramione Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 11:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22276546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: There's something developing between Hermione and Draco. The only problem is, her two best friends aren't happy about it and are determined to stop things in their tracks. But will they succeed, or will events take an unexpected turn?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 27
Kudos: 124
Collections: Where Gods Dwell: A Dramione Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all!
> 
> My couple for this fest were Hinemoa and Tuntanekai. Their story is (In New Zealand, where I'm from, at least!) a well-known Maori legend. Hinemoa is a strong, determined woman who is not about to let her elders keep her from her love, and goes to great lengths to be with him.
> 
> I hope you enjoy my entry!
> 
> Thank you to DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns, who put together the amazing manip; and beta love to Pandorascube!

_Ministry of Magic, Fifth July 1998_

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat at his desk, staring at the mountain of paperwork before him, and sighed. He had so many tasks to review, he barely knew where to start. The light may have won and Voldemort may be dead, but the battle was far from over. Wizarding England had been left reeling from the Second Wizarding War and was in total disarray.

There were at-large Death Eaters to track down, Ministry officials to replace, criminals to be tried in the courts, and a school to be rebuilt and restaffed. However, to catch the at-large Death Eaters, they needed more skilled Aurors, and to replace Ministry officials, they needed people who had the required abilities and could be satisfactorily vetted. In order to adequately try the criminals, they needed to compile water-tight cases and schedule hearings, and to get the rebuilding and re-staffing of Hogwarts underway, they needed money. The worst part of it, in Kingsley’s opinion, was that no one could seem to agree on which tasks were the most important, or how to go about solving the barriers to each task so that the Ministry might make a start on actually tackling them. He was mightily sick of the constant infighting and accusations, and the idea of resigning as Minister was becoming more and more attractive. Groaning, Kingsley dropped his head into his hands. What he needed was for all this paperwork to go away and for a large bottle of firewhisky to appear in its place.

A knock suddenly came at his door, fast and urgent. He was sorely tempted to just pretend he wasn’t there, but he knew such an attempt at deception would be futile. His secretary, Mrs Potts, knew he was within.

“Enter,” he called out in a voice that cracked slightly, exhausted by the burdens of the day.

She opened the door just enough to pop her head around the edge. “There’s a man to see you, sir,” she explained nervously. “He says he has valuable information about wanted criminals and will entrust the information to you and only you. He is most insistent.” Mrs Potts was a diminutive woman in her late fifties, with grey hair and a soft voice. She always wore nondescript brown skirts and cream blouses under brown robes, and Kingsley was sure she had nothing else in her wardrobe. She jumped at loud noises and raised voices, and seemed far too timid to hold the position of secretary to the Minister for Magic. However, she was excellent at overseeing and managing his many administration duties, appointments, and meetings.

Kingsley considered his options. In all likelihood, the man—whoever he was—was almost certain to be another quack. He’d had several such visitors since the battle, all claiming to have valuable information that hadn’t proved to be anything useful. On the other hand, there was always the chance the supposed informant would be at least halfway sane and actually give him something he could use. At the very least, the meeting would give him an excuse to put off the maddening pile of paperwork for a short time.

“Send him in, ” Kingsley instructed.

“Sir?” Mrs Potts queried. “Are you certain? Shall I fetch an Auror to be in the room with you?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I am quite capable of defending myself against one man, should it come to that.”

“Very well, Sir.” Mrs Potts withdrew with a nod. Moments later she appeared again, swinging the door wide to allow the man to step through. Kingsley stood as the stranger entered. “Shall I bring tea?”

“In a few moments. Let me get acquainted with this gentleman, first. I’ll call you when I’m ready.” She nodded her understanding and exited. Kingsley quickly appraised the stranger standing before his desk. He was of average height and slim build, with brown hair and eyes. He wore shabby, crumpled robes and was unshaven, looking as if he had not slept well in some time.

“What is your name?” he demanded, pointing his wand at the man.

“John Smith,” the man responded in a rough voice.

“That’s a false name if ever I heard one,” Kingsley snorted. “What is your real name?”

The man looked at his watch. “In about two minutes, you’ll find out,” he said. “I’m thankful your secretary let me in when she did. I’m empty.” The man smirked, causing Kingsley to draw his eyebrows together in a frown—he _knew_ that expression!— and reached into his robes. Kingsley took a step back, anticipating an attack. The man pulled a flask from an inner pocket, shaking it.

“Polyjuice,” Kingsley realised.

“Give the man a Galleon,” the stranger murmured. 

“You went to the trouble of disguising yourself before bringing information to me?” Kingsley questioned. “It better be good.”

“I did,” the man replied. “And I can assure you, it’s good. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t have even ventured out, let alone taken the risk of Polyjuicing myself and entering the Ministry. I’m a wanted man, after all.”

“I’m going to have to take your wand.” The man nodded and handed it over without protest. “This is...” Kingsley frowned, recognising the piece of wood he held in his hand.

Just then, the stranger grunted. Kingsley looked up to see his features changing and his skin rippling as the effects of the Polyjuice Potion wore off. The man grew taller, his facial features became more pointed, his eyes grew lighter, and his hair turned a pale blond.

“Draco Malfoy!” Kingsley gasped. The wizard bowed with a flourish before him, smiling sardonically and sitting in a chair by the desk without being invited to do so.

“Now, Minister, I believe your secretary mentioned something about tea. I really would be grateful for a cup, if it’s not too much trouble.” Kingsley simply nodded, speechless. _Of all the people to walk through my door,_ he thought, _I did not expect Draco fucking Malfoy._

Kingsley sent for the tea. Kingsley quickly levitated the contents out of her hands as she entered. “Thank you, Mrs Potts. Please ensure I am not disturbed for the rest of the afternoon.” 

“Y—yes, Sir.” She nodded meekly, glancing warily at the stranger in the chair. His hood was up, and she could see nothing of his features, but she thought he looked taller than he had been when she showed him in. Without another word she closed the door, leaving the two men alone

“Now, Mister Malfoy, I suggest you start talking,” Kingsley ordered sternly as he served the tea. “If you want to leave here of your own volition instead of in shackles, that is.”

“I can give you the whereabouts of several Death Eaters who have not yet been apprehended,” Draco replied without preamble. “Some of Voldemort’s most dangerous, loyal followers, who still pose a significant threat to magical and Mud—Muggle-borns alike.”

“And what do you want in return?” Kingsley asked. “I doubt you’re here purely out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Ever the sceptical one,” Draco tsked, “But you’re not wrong.” Determination crossed his features and he leaned forward. “I want immunity for myself and my mother.”

“I could just force you to take Veritaserum, you know,” Kingsley mused.

“Moody certainly would, if he were still alive,” Draco snorted. “But, you, Minister? No. You have a more defined sense of right and wrong, and forcing me to reveal what I know under Veritaserum would just be _wrong_ to you.”

Kingsley kept his facial expression carefully neutral, but he knew the man was right. People had been forced to do and say things against their will far too frequently these past few years, and he wanted to avoid going down that route as much as possible. 

“If your information proves valuable and results in the capture of these individuals, then immunity for your family can be considered, although I doubt your father—”

“I didn’t ask for immunity for my father,” Draco spat. “It was _his_ foolishness, _his_ pride, _his_ cowardice, and _his_ ambition that caused my family’s downfall. You can have him for all I care.”

“And does your mother feel the same way?” Kingsley asked, surprised. 

“No,” Draco admitted, face falling. “ She is angry with him, but she is also angry with herself for standing idly by and allowing so much to happen. She still loves him, despite all his failings.” He shook his head in resignation. “Merlin knows why.”

“We’ll discuss Lucius later, then.” Kingsley agreed. “I can’t guarantee full immunity for you and your mother, but if the information helps us get the last of Voldemort’s followers off the streets, I can at least keep you both out of Azkaban and in control of most of your family’s assets—”

“I’ll be happy to discuss reparations,” Draco interjected. “Mother and I would like to contribute to the cost of rebuilding Hogwarts and supporting the families who have lost loved ones.”

“We can discuss that at a later date. For now, I think you’d better give me some names.”

“Names, yes,” Draco nodded. “Yaxley. Rookwood, McNair, Dolohov… and Fenrir Greyback.”

“I’m listening. Speak.” Kingsley leaned forward, his interest piqued. 

Draco spoke.

~xXx~

**_Six months later_ **

Hermione stood with Harry, Ron, and Kingsley at a Ministry Gala, smiling and chatting with a drink in her hand. Witches and wizards everywhere were likewise celebrating. The last of Voldemort’s supporters had been apprehended and were under heavy guard, awaiting sentence and imprisonment. The rebuilding of Hogwarts was well underway. Finally, progress was being made!

“Excellent job on that final capture, gentlemen,” Kingsley congratulated the two Aurors before him. 

“It was a close one with Fenrir,” Harry said with a grimace. “As it was, the tricky bastard managed to scar two of our team before we could take him down.”

“How are they recovering?” Hermione asked, concern in her eyes.

“They’re doing well, and neither are infected,” Harry replied, relief on his face.

“Neither would have been attacked at all if that pointy-faced ferret had given us better intel,” Ron growled.

“If Mister Malfoy had not given us the intel he had, Greyback would still be at large,” Kingsley chastened Ron.

“So, what, they’re just casualties of war? Disposable?” Ron argued, the tips of his ears turning red.

“They’re _Aurors,_ Ronald,” Hermione interrupted, exasperation evident in her tone. “You and Harry are Aurors. The Minister was an Auror. Putting yourselves in harm’s way is one of the risks you take as part of the job. You _knew_ Greyback was dangerous even before you went in!”

“But it could have been a trap,” Rob argued feebly.

“Tell me, Ron,” Hermione rounded on the red-headed man, her expression fierce, “If the source of the intel had been _anyone_ other than Draco Malfoy, would you still have blamed them for your men getting hurt?”

“I—I—” Ron spluttered. “Why are you defending him, Hermione? What’s your problem?”

_"You’re_ my problem, Ron,” Hermione snapped. “We’re trying to encourage people to move on and to let go of old grudges and resentments, to move forward and work together for unity. Why are you still so blinded by hate? You sound like Voldemort!” With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Harry and Kingsley staring after her and Ron spluttering in outrage.

  
  


Draco watched from a corner of the ballroom as Granger got into what was obviously an argument with the Weasel, then stomped away from the group. She was wearing a gown of the deepest red— _Gryffindor red, of course_ —and she looked beautiful in it. He had observed her from afar at the few Auror Division meetings he had attended during the hunt for the men he had implicated and seen her around the Ministry where she worked in the Muggle Liaison office. He still didn’t like venturing out too often as himself, despite having been cleared of all charges, so he was still making regular use of Polyjuice Potion.

Draco had been exhausted, hopeful, and fearful after telling Kingsley all he knew that fateful day. Hopeful that he and his mother could gradually become a part of wizarding society once again, and fearful that giving up the fugitive loyalists would put a target on their backs. He had taken one of the biggest risks of his life. Kingsley had promised to ensure their protection and had escorted Draco through his private Floo in order to protect his anonymity.

Draco’s information had paid off, and so he found himself at the gala that was being held to celebrate, both he and his mother attending as honoured guests of the Minister. The cover story for their presence was the significant amount of money they had donated to various causes, including the rebuilding of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, and financial assistance for people who had lost their livelihoods or the principal household earner in the war. Only a small handful of people knew Draco was the informant who had been an integral part of bringing Voldemort’s few remaining and most dangerous supporters to justice, and those who did know were under strict orders to keep his identity secret.

Now, as Granger pushed her way through the throngs of mingling, chattering people, Draco wished he had the confidence to approach her. He had never hated her, not really - he had just blindly regurgitated the bullshit Lucius, and later Voldemort and his supporters, spouted. _If Muggle-borns are really so inferior,_ Draco thought to himself for perhaps the thousandth time, _how is it that she is still alive and was a front-line soldier in the war, while Voldemort and many of his pure-blood supporters are dead or in Azkaban? She impersonated my aunt and rode a dragon out of Gringotts, for Merlin’s sake!_ More than anything, he wanted to talk to her, if only for a few moments—long enough to tell her how sorry he was for the way he had treated her in school, and how much he respected her. In his fantasy, she accepted his apology and they talked. Eventually, they became friends, and after a time maybe something more.

_Don’t be a fool!_ Draco mentally slapped himself. _You’d be lucky if she listened long enough for you to stutter your apology before rejecting you, or worse—punching you again! She probably wouldn’t even believe you were genuine._ He quickly swallowed the firewhisky in his glass, grimacing as it burned on the way down, and signalled for a passing elf to refill it.

“Slow down, Dragon,” admonished a quiet voice beside him. Draco turned to regard Narcissa, who was giving him a look of reproach. “Malfoys do not drink to excess in public,” she continued. “We need to keep up appearances, even if public opinion of us has soured of late.” She glanced subtly around the room at the other attendees. Draco and Narcissa's presence, as they had expected, had not been well received by many of the other guests who had either pointedly ignored them or regarded them with open hostility and mistrust. 

“We should just leave, Mother,” Draco sighed. “It would simultaneously reduce the tension and improve the overall mood of the party if we were to give our thanks to Kingsley for inviting us and go back to the manor.”

“No!” Narcissa responded fiercely. “We will _not_ run away in shame with our tails between our legs! We will hold our heads high and bear their scorn with dignity.” Nodding in the direction Hermione had headed a few minutes earlier, she added, “Now why don’t we go and ask after Miss Granger’s welfare? The exchange she appears to have had with her friends seemed rather tense.” Before he could protest, Narcissa looped her hand through Draco’s arm and led him through the crowd. Knowing his mother would not be dissuaded and not wanting to make a scene, Draco sighed and allowed her to lead him through the crowd.

They found her out on the balcony, leaning on the marble railing and staring out into the night sky.

“Miss Granger?” Narcissa asked softly, pulling Draco along behind her. “Is everything well?” Hermione jumped and straightened, turning quickly to face them. Shock turned to surprise and confusion as she saw who had addressed her, and Draco inwardly cringed. _Why_ had his mother insisted on confronting Granger? At best, she would politely dismiss them, and at worst, she might outright tell them to piss off.

“Oh! Mrs Malfoy! Malfoy...um...Draco! Can I help you with something?” she stuttered, clearly discomfited.

“Actually, Miss Granger, we were hoping we could help you,” Narcissa smiled kindly. “I couldn’t help but notice your... robust discussion with your friends and your hasty exit. I—and Draco, of course—thought to make sure it was nothing that would spoil your enjoyment of the gala.”

“It was nothing.” Hermione smiled briefly, nervously smoothing the fabric of her dress. “Just a... difference of opinion.” She glanced briefly in Draco’s direction before casting her eyes away, and he just _knew_ the disagreement had been about him. But if it was Weasley she had been arguing with, and it was a difference of opinion, did that mean—? No. Surely she wouldn’t go as far as to defend him against anyone, not considering the way he had treated her at school and certainly not considering she had been tortured in his home by his unhinged aunt. More likely, they disagreed on whether he should have been executed outright or left to rot in Azkaban for life.

“I’m so pleased to hear it,” Narcissa smiled. She looked back toward the party and seemed to notice someone. “If you’ll please excuse me, Miss Granger, I must go thank the Minister for inviting Draco and me. Draco, if you’ll keep Miss Granger company?” 

“It’s no bother. Please don’t stay on my account,” Hermione stammered, but Narcissa had already made her way back inside, leaving the two of them standing awkwardly and unsure of what to do or say next. _Merlin’s balls!_ Draco cursed inwardly, _This was her plan all along!_ Keeping his face carefully neutral, he glanced at Hermione.

“Your argument with Weasley… It was about me, wasn’t it?” Draco blurted out, surprising himself as much as Hemione.

“Do you think every argument is about you, Malfoy? People _do_ have disagreements over things other than the infamous Prince of Slytherin, you know.”

“I didn’t say _every_ argument is about me!” Draco retorted indignantly. “But it _is_ the Weasel we’re talking about here, and you wouldn’t look at me when you answered my mother’s question, so it’s not an unreasonable assumption to make given the circumstances.”

“Don’t call Ronald that!” Hermione huffed. “And if you _must_ know, yes. It was about you. They caught Greyback several days ago, but not before he scarred two of the Aurors who went to catch him.”

“Yes, I heard he had been apprehended, but—” Draco frowned. “Let me guess. The Weasel blames me for the injuries the Aurors suffered.”

“It’s ridiculous!” Hermione exclaimed, ignoring the second insult and her face becoming animated as she gave in to the outrage she had felt earlier. “Honestly! It’s as if Ronald hadn't realised until then that being an Auror is a dangerous job!”

“Oh, he knew. He just wants to find a way to find fault with me.” He sighed. “The same as just about everyone else. If the information had come from any other source, he would not have blamed that person for what happened to the Aurors.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Hermione nodded, irritation still evident on her features. “Ronald just got even more put out with me as if I had committed an act of treason by defending you! He just can’t see past old hostilities.”

Draco felt his heart lift slightly. She had actually _defended_ him! Of course, that redheaded lout would be cross with her for disagreeing with him. The man was so thick it was a wonder he had passed his Auror training.

“And you can? See past old hostilities, I mean?” Draco asked softly, looking into her eyes.

“I—well...” Hermione fidgeted under his gaze. “I’m trying to. We all need to try if we are to move forward as a society.”

“Indeed. Well. Thank you for arguing in my favour,” He sighed, his heart dropping back down into its accustomed place again.

They stood in strained silence for a few more moments before he burst out with, “Read any good books lately?” Hermione simply blinked at him in stunned silence.“Well—what I mean to say is—you always _did_ like to read. Had your nose in some book or another almost constantly, even at meals, and—” Draco babbled on, feeling his face go red. _Why am I still talking?_ _Surely she’s going to hex me at any moment!_

“Actually, I have been reading several excellent books lately,” Hermione mused. “I’m currently researching ancient wizarding law. Of course, the main volume I’ve been studying is written entirely in runic symbols, some of which I’m unfamiliar with. I’m having a terrible time finding a text on runes that is old enough to help me with the translation.”

“When was the volume published?” Draco asked, curiously. 

“Early eleventh century,” Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “What I have been able to translate so far has been positively barbaric in places, but I’m missing a great deal, of course.” Her delicate features creased into a frown and the expression did funny things to Draco’s stomach.

“Why are you researching eleventh century wizarding law?” Draco inquired. “Are you on another one of your crusades, like that spew thing you were on about in school?”

“For Merlin’s sake! It’s not _spew!_ It’s S.P.E.W! Society for the Promotion of—” Draco snorted indelicately, making Hermione cut the beginning of her tirade short. “Well, yes, I suppose the acronym _did_ rather detract from my intent,” she sighed. “No, I’m not researching for any particular purpose—not at this stage, at any rate. It’s just a bit of light reading.” Hermione eyed him, chin raised as if daring him to mock her. However, Draco merely nodded sagely. 

“I confess I find ancient law is not to my taste. My favourite subject matter is ancient potions, especially the ones that are illegal now. Did you know potion masters used to routinely test out their experimental brews on Muggles and Muggle-borns, with no regulation whatsoever? They recorded some horrific results.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised at their choice of subjects.” Hermione shuddered. “In saying that, I suppose it’s not much different from the experiments doctors used to subject patients to in the name of science. Some of the surgeries and tests they performed were horrifically cruel and left subjects disfigured or brain-damaged.”

“Doctors?” Draco queried.

“Muggle healers,” Hermione explained. “Muggle medicine throughout history has not always been ethical, though these days it is quite strictly regulated with laws and oversight from medical councils.”

“Will you tell me more about Muggle healing sometime?” Draco asked. “It sounds interesting.”

“You _want_ to learn about Muggle medicine?” Hermione looked at him in surprise. “If you’re so interested in such topics, why did you not take Muggle studies?”

“Are you kidding, Granger?” Draco scoffed. “Can you imagine the reaction I would have gotten from my housemates if I had elected to take _Muggle_ _studies_? Not to mention the reaction from my father or Voldemort. It would have been more than my life was worth to take the subject, even _without_ the prejudice I subscribed to at the time.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Looking suitably chastened, Hermione nodded. “But what makes you suddenly want to learn about it now?”

“Do I really have to explain myself? Is it really that hard to believe?” Draco challenged her, beginning to grow frustrated.

“No, that’s not what I—”

“I thought you were trying to look past old hostilities, Granger,” he interrupted.

“I am!” she countered, taking an unconscious step towards him. “I just—look, Malfoy, I apologise. I shouldn’t be so sceptical of your motives for wanting to learn.”

“It’s all right, Granger.” Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d rather your scepticism than the outright suspicion I’m subjected to by just about everyone else.”

“Still, it wasn’t right, and I’m glad you forgive me.” She smiled slightly at him.

“‘Mione!” They both turned at the sound of a voice calling Hermione’s name, and moments later Potter stepped through the doorway. “Oh, there you are! I was worried you’d left after—” he stopped suddenly as he noticed Draco’s presence, stiffening as he glanced between the two of them.

“We were having a _conversation,_ Harry!” Hermione huffed, clearly expecting her friend to protest. “There’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Well, let’s get back to the party.” Harry gestured towards the door. “Kingsley is about to make a speech.”Hermione nodded at Harry and began to follow him back inside. 

“It was not unpleasant to talk to you,” she said to Draco with a wry smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Draco echoed. He watched as she gracefully walked through the open doors and wondered why he felt so lost. Suddenly, he brightened as an idea came to him. Smiling to himself, he wandered back inside to find his mother.

~xXx~

Several days later, Hermione sat at her desk, frowning over the dusty book on Wizarding law. She still hadn’t come any closer to finding any additional texts that would help her with the translation of the symbols she wasn’t familiar with. She looked up at the sound of tapping on her window and observed a large, regal-looking owl perched on the sill. She unlatched the window to let it in and it fluttered over to her desk with a package clasped in its claws, dropping the item with a dull thump. Curious, Hermione moved over to the package and unwrapped it to reveal a book. Turning it over, she gasped with pleasure. It was a very old tome on runes from the tenth century. Fumbling in the wrapping paper, she withdrew a note written in an elegant copperplate hand.

_Granger,_

_This is one of the texts from the library at the Manor. You may find it useful in aiding you with your ‘light reading.’_

D.M

Grabbing a quill and parchment, she scribbled a quick note and handed it to the waiting owl before picking up the book again and flicking through it. She was distracted by an insistent hoot and glanced down to see the owl glaring at her balefully, as if waiting for something.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” she apologised, and summoned the jar of owl treats, offering a generous helping by way of reparation. Satisfied, the owl took the piece of parchment in its beak and took off out the window. Hermione, however, was so absorbed in the text she barely noticed its departure.

~xXx~

Draco’s owl returned with a single scrap of paper in its beak. The paper was slightly crumpled and the words hastily, messily scrawled. It was unlike any example of her writing he had ever seen, which was usually small and neat. It made him smile.

_Thank you, THANK YOU!_

Several days later, an unfamiliar owl arrived, struggling under the weight of an enormous package. He unwrapped it to find several Muggle books accompanied by a note.

_Malfoy,_

_  
__Thank you again for the loan of the book on runes—my translation work is so much better for it! I will return it to you soon, promise._

_In the meantime, I remembered you wanted to learn more about Muggle medicine, so I have sourced these textbooks for you. They are some of the required reading for students who are in their first year at university and studying to be doctors. I do hope you find them useful._

_Regards,_ _  
__H.G_

Draco began to sort through the thick books, grinning enthusiastically. There was one about illnesses and injuries, another on anatomy, one about different types of medicine, and a slightly thinner volume that appeared to cover the mind. He sat down, opening the text on anatomy to a random page, and recoiled in horror, dropping the book. _What in Godric's name was that monster?_ Resolutely looking away, he fumbled for the text and flipped the page back before risking a glance from the corner of his eye. He relaxed when he saw words instead of graphic images and began to read.

_"During labour, the cervix will widen to accommodate the baby, allowing it to pass through the birth canal. The woman is considered fully dilated once the opening measures ten centimetres in diameter..."_

"Ugh!" Draco exclaimed in disgust, closing the book with a snap and tossing it aside. "Muggles can keep their anatomy books."

~xXx~

  
A week after receiving the text on ancient runes, Hermione had almost finished her translation work. She sighed. As much as it satisfied her to know she had almost completed her task, she was saddened to see the end of what had been a very enjoyable challenge. Her Floo roared and she turned to regard the visitor. Ron stepped into her living room, closely followed by Harry.

“Hey, ‘Mione. Are you ready to go to dinner?” Ron asked.

“Dinner?” Hermione frowned in momentary confusion before remembering. It was Saturday, and she nearly always joined the Weasleys for their weekly roast on Saturdays. “Oh, yes! Dinner at the Burrow! Let me just finish this line—” She turned and consulted the old tome Malfoy had lent her, then the text on ancient Wizarding law, before making a final note on her parchment.

“Don’t tell me you’re _still_ doing that Magical law research,” Ron laughed, wandering over and picking up the book that had proved so valuable to the work. He turned it over disinterestedly, flipping through the pages and shaking his head. “The book’s older than Merlin,” he commented. “Where in Godric’s name did you manage to dig up this dusty old thing?”

Hermione snatched it back, hugging it to her chest protectively. “It was lent to me by M—by a friend,” Hermione faltered, placing the book carefully down on the table.

“How many of your friends have crusty old books like that?” Harry laughed, grabbing it before she could stop him and leafing through the pages himself. He flipped to the inside front cover and frowned. _“Property of A.A.M.”_

“Hermione,” Harry said, looking closely at her, “I don’t believe we know anyone with those initials. Just who is this ‘friend’ who lent you this book?” He shut it with a snap.

“None of your business, Harry!” she huffed, grabbing the book out of Harry’s hands.

“It is when your safety is concerned!” Harry snapped back. “You know perfectly well a few holdouts are still targeting prominent members of the Order!”

“No one is targeting me!” Hermione growled in frustration. “I happen to know the source is not out to do me any harm!”

“Well, you won’t mind telling us who ‘A.A.M’ is and who lent you the book, then,” Ron added, frowning. Hermione sighed in resignation, opening the book to regard the gently sloped letters that had caused her best friends such consternation. 

“Fine,” she grumbled, tracing the ink with her fingers. “Malfoy lent it to me—”

_“Malfoy?”_ Ron and Harry both yelped in shock.

“—to help me with my translation work,” she interjected over their protests. “I explained the trouble I was having, and he sent the text from his family’s personal library at the Manor. I assume the _A_ probably stands for Abraxas—”

“Drop it immediately!” Ron shouted, making a grab for the book as Hermione pulled it out of his reach. “It’s bound to be teeming with dark magic. It’s probably cursed you already!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,” Hermione snapped, eyes blazing. “I think I would know if it contained any dark magic and besides, why would Malfoy send me such a thing if it was cursed in any way?”

“Ron’s right, ‘Mione,” Harry agreed, trying to reason with her. “It could just be well-hidden dark magic. In fact, as an Auror, I feel I should confiscate it immediately and have it thoroughly checked.” He stepped forward authoritatively with his hand out.

“Oh, no you don’t, Harry Potter,” Hermione glared, taking several steps back and holding the book tightly. “Don’t you dare use your Auror voice on me!”

“But ‘Mione—” Ron feebly tried to argue.

“Stop it, both of you!” Hermione shouted, her face red with anger. “You’re both being completely unreasonable! You are _not_ taking this book from me, and in fact, I am going to _personally_ return it to Malfoy tomorrow instead of just sending it by owl!”

“Hermione, you are _not_ meeting that ferrety prat!” Ron ordered, a flush spreading across his face as his frustration grew.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Ronald!” Hermione pointed at her fireplace. “Get out now, both of you!”

“But—” 

“Just get out!”

Ron spun on his heel in a huff and stormed toward the fireplace. “Barking, you are,” he muttered. “Come on, Harry.” He tossed a handful of powder into the grate and disappeared behind a wall of green flames.

Harry and Hermione stared each other down before Harry’s shoulders dropped in defeat. “I really would feel better if you would let me have it checked,” he said quietly.

“Not everything that belongs to the Malfoys is cursed with dark magic, Harry!” Hermione bit out. “Now kindly leave before I lose my temper.”

“Are you still coming to the Burrow?” he asked tentatively as he turned towards the fireplace.

“Shite,” Hermione muttered to herself.

“Molly will be disappointed if you don’t come.” 

“Bollocks,” she grumbled. He was right, of course. “Fine. I will come to dinner. But on the subject of this book—” she held up the cause of their conflict and shook it at him threateningly, “—discussion is _closed,_ and I expect you to make this abundantly clear to Ronald, as well. Do you hear me, Harry Potter?”

“I hear you, ‘Mione,” Harry grumbled in defeat. “As for Ronald, I’ll do my best but I make no promises. You know how he is.” Picking up a handful of Floo powder, he tossed it into the grate, calling out “ _The Burrow!_ ” and then he was gone.

Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself, pinching the bridge of her nose. She _did_ know how Ron was when he got his wand in a knot like this, and she would be amazed if he was able to control himself for the whole evening. Still, she was expected at the Burrow and didn’t want to let Molly down. Shrinking the book and placing it in her beaded bag for safekeeping, she finished getting ready and headed to the Weasley’s home for dinner.

Hermione found herself pleasantly surprised when Ronald did indeed manage to keep his mouth shut about the book, although he shot subtle glares her way all evening which she resolutely ignored. Later, Ginny pulled her aside to ask why Ron was upset. Sighing, she explained the book and the argument that ensued when her friends discovered where it had come from.

“Well, their concerns aren’t entirely unjustified,” Ginny argued with a concerned frown. “The Malfoy ancestors were known for their purist beliefs and for cursing objects to prevent Muggle-borns and half-bloods from using them.”

“I know that, Ginny,” Hermione replied, exasperated, “But this particular book has no dark magic attached to it, and I’m grateful to Malfoy for allowing me to use it.”

“And you’re sure he didn’t have any ulterior motives?” Ginny asked, one eyebrow sharply raised.

“No!—well, all right, I suppose I can’t be _one hundred percent_ sure,” Hermione admitted. “But honestly, what other motives could he possibly have for sending me a book to aid me in my translations?”

“To gain your trust, maybe?” Ginny guessed, still looking unconvinced.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Hermione challenged, watching as Ginny blushed.

“Well, no, not strictly speaking. But—”

“—But because it’s _Malfoy_ , we should be looking for potential dangers where we wouldn’t ordinarily?” Hermione finished, eyes blazing. “Honestly, why is everyone so determined to hold on to past prejudices? He’s _trying_ to redeem himself, he and his mother both!”

“Okay, okay, Hermione,” Ginny said softly, holding up her hands. “You’re right. We shouldn’t be so quick to make assumptions.” Hermione nodded in satisfaction.

“How are you going with the translations?” Ginny asked, changing the subject to a less divisive topic.

“Brilliantly!” Hermione beamed “They’re almost complete. I couldn’t have finished without that book. It had old symbols that aren’t seen in any of the other texts I’ve come across.”

“What are you going to do with the information?”

“Well, I don’t know yet,” Hermione hedged.

“Oh come on, ‘Mione,” Ginny laughed. “You and I both know you won’t be content to just let the information sit now that you have it in front of you.”

“You’re right, Gin. I can’t just leave it aside,” Hermione said with a laugh. “I truly don’t know what I’ll use it for yet, but I’m sure it will come in handy when Kingsley next reviews an aspect of magical law.” Hermione glanced at her watch. “It’s late. I should be getting home.” She hugged Ginny, then made the rounds, bidding farewell to everyone.

“Where are Harry and Ron?” she asked Molly after checking the house and yard. “I can’t find them anywhere, and it’s not like them to leave without saying goodbye.”

“I have no idea, love,” Molly answered with a worried frown. “They can’t have gone far. Perhaps some Auror business?”

“That must be it,” Hermione agreed, although she wasn’t entirely convinced. Something nagged at the back of her mind. She shrugged, said goodbye to Molly, and took the Floo home.

Stepping through to her living room, Hermione heard noises coming from further inside her flat. She had her wand out in an instant, prowling cautiously to the door and flattening herself against the side, listening carefully.

“It must be somewhere,” came a hushed but very familiar voice. The sounds were coming from her bedroom. Storming down the hallway, Hermione burst through the door. 

“ _Incarcerous!”_ she cried, and ropes flew from the end of her wand, binding the intruder— _intruders—_ in an instant. “You two!” Hermione exclaimed in outrage. Before her, now struggling on the floor, were a shamefaced Harry and Ron. 

“Just _what_ in Godric’s name do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. 

“Um—well,” Ron stuttered, his face flaming almost as red as his hair.

“We—ahh—” added Harry, spots of colour high on his cheeks.

“Looking for something, were you?” she asked, the nagging feeling she had earlier returning. She’d not wanted to suspect her friends, but her outrage at being proved right threatened to overwhelm her. Their surly silence was all the answer she needed. Reaching into her bag, Hermione summoned the book on runes and enlarged it, before holding it up. “Was _this_ what you were hoping to find?” The way they glanced up and then quickly back at the floor confirmed it.

“Who do you think you are?” she continued, her voice raising. “How _dare_ you sneak into my home and attempt to steal something that doesn’t belong to you! That doesn’t even belong to _me!”_

“It’s _dangerous,_ ‘Mione!” Ron shouted.

“Because it came from _Malfoy?”_

“You know how he feels about Muggle-borns, it’d be just like him to—” 

“Arrrghh!” Hermione screamed in frustration. “ _Silencio!”_ Ron gaped at her as his voice was abruptly cut off, his face puce with anger and mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. She paced furiously back and forth in front of her intrusive friends, refusing to look at them as she muttered to herself.

“Hermione,” Harry said quietly. Hermione rounded on him, and he cringed away from her murderous stare.

“I’m sorry. _We’re_ sorry—” Ron shook his head wildly, still incapable of speech, “Yes, Ron, we _are,”_ Harry argued, trying and failing to elbow the red-headed man beside him within his confines. “We never should have snuck in and tried to find the book,” he continued, looking contrite. “We were just worried about you. There are so many dark objects out there and we’d hate for anything to happen to you.” 

“I don’t need _protecting,_ Harry!” Hermione cried, tears of frustration springing to her eyes. “You two _always_ do this! You forget that I’m just as capable as either of you. I’m not made of glass!”

“I know you aren’t, ‘Mione,” Harry answered. “You’re far smarter than both of us. We love you, you know that.”

“I _do_ know that.” Hermione sighed, wiping at her eyes, “But you need to respect me, and let me make my own judgments without rushing in to try and save me every five minutes!”

“We’re sorry,” Harry said again. “Will you forgive us?”

“I suppose,” Hermione muttered, folding her arms across her chest and huffing. 

“And will you untie us, now?” he prompted, wiggling his shoulders. With a grumble, Hermione flicked her wand, releasing them from the ropes that bound them. Both wizards got to their feet, dusting off their robes. Ron pointed wildly at his throat, silently asking her to release the silencing charm. She eyed him sceptically.

“If you say _one word_ that isn’t an apology, Ronald Weasley, I swear I’ll hex you senseless!” Ron nodded eagerly, and after a moment’s pause, she released the spell. She looked at him expectantly.

“I’m—” Ron toed her carpet, staring at his feet, before earnestly meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I was only trying to look out for you.” She nodded her acceptance of his apology.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get ready for bed,” Hermione prompted. “Unless you fancy rummaging through my things one more time before you go?”

Both men shook their heads. Harry stepped forward to give her a hug, followed by Ron, who kissed her on the cheek. “G’nite, Hermione.”

“Goodnight,” she echoed.

The Floo roared as they stepped into the flames and headed back to the Burrow. Hermione shook her head and wandered to the kitchen to make a much-needed cup of tea. Halfway across the room, she realised she still held the troublesome book in one hand. Looking at it and sighing, she placed it carefully on her desk. She meant what she’d said earlier—she would personally return it to Malfoy tomorrow.  
  


~xXx~

Draco was at breakfast when the small owl that had delivered Granger’s Muggle books arrived, flying in through the open window and landing gracefully beside his plate. It clutched a letter in its beak.

“The landing’s easier when you’re not lugging a big pile of books, isn’t it?” 

The owl dropped the letter and hooted in agreement, bobbing its head. It turned keen eyes to the bacon on Draco's plate, and he handed it a piece. The bird snapped its beak happily and flew off with its prize, leaving Draco to open the letter lying on the table.

_Malfoy,_

_I’m finished with the book and would like to thank you properly. Meet me for lunch? There’s a lovely little cafe in Kensington I frequent. I’ll be at the Hyde Park Apparition point at twelve-thirty._

_Regards,_ _  
__  
__H.G_

Draco’s heart beat faster. She wanted to meet him for lunch! He checked his watch, sighing in disappointment when he saw it was only eight forty-five. However, would he keep himself occupied until then? He tried to finish his breakfast, but his stomach was in knots, and he just couldn’t do it. Drumming his fingers nervously on the counter, he thought about ways to make the hours pass. Standing abruptly, he decided to head to his lab and do some more research on the potion he was trying to develop. Quickly, Draco left the kitchen and made his way through the Manor.

“Draco, darling,” his mother called, startling him. He placed a steadying hand on his pounding heart. “Whatever is the matter?” Narcissa asked, moving towards him with concern. “You look positively wretched. Are you ill?” She reached up to place her hand on his forehead, and he gently caught her wrist.

“No, Mother, I’m fine,” he tried to reassure her. “I’ve just… I have an unexpected appointment this afternoon.”

“I hope it’s nothing to be concerned about,” she pressed. “It seems to have you on edge. Who are you meeting?” Draco considered avoiding the question, then thought better of it. His mother was like a Niffler with a shiny object when she suspected something was amiss, and he knew she would not relent unless he was frank with her.

“Granger invited me to lunch,” he explained. “She said she wanted to thank me properly for lending her Grandfather’s book on runes.”

“Well, that’s wonderful, darling.” Narcissa smiled. “I’m sure given time, the two of you will get along swimmingly.”

“Well, I can’t guarantee there will be opportunities for further meetings. I’m sure she’s just being polite,” Draco replied.

“Nevertheless, you must put your best foot forward,” she urged. “Befriending the Granger girl will be good for you, and good for our image.”

“I know, Mother.” Draco leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll spend some time in the lab.”

  
“Of course, dear. Do come by and say goodbye before you go, and give Miss Granger my regards.” Draco nodded and carried on his way, hoping he would be able to lose himself in his research for a few hours.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione arrived at the Apparition point at twelve twenty-five. She half-expected Malfoy not to show up. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, she felt a strange flutter in her stomach at the thought. She heard her name being called and turned to regard Malfoy hurrying towards her, his face pinched.  _ Oh dear,  _ she thought.  _ He looks annoyed. _

“I hope you weren’t busy,” she began to apologise. “I just wanted to—”

“No, really, it’s fine,” Malfoy gave her a smile that looked more like a grimace and glanced around them carefully. “Shall we go?”

Hermione frowned but nodded. “We’ll cut through the park,” she suggested, turning to lead the way towards the entrance to Kensington Gardens a block away. Malfoy fell into step beside her, and they walked in tense silence.  _ Maybe he doesn’t want to be seen with me, _ she mused, feeling strangely disappointed.  _ It would explain why he was so wary earlier.  _

Draco walked briskly beside her, his shoulders slightly hunched and his head down, gaze fixed to the ground. Once they were in the gardens, however, he seemed to perk up a bit. His shoulders relaxed and he slowed his pace, looking around with interest.

It was early February and the trees around them were bare. The park wasn’t at its best, slushy melted snow was lying in clumps where the weak rays of the sun didn’t reach. The ground was bare in patches, the grass beneath eroded away after weeks of being covered by the snow. Only a few people walked the paths and those who did hurried on, not lingering at the benches scattered throughout the park.

“It doesn’t look like much now, but it will be lovely in the spring when the blossoms arrive,” Hermione spoke up hesitantly. 

“It’s huge,” Draco noted. “I didn’t expect the grounds would cover such a large area.”

“It’s right beside Kensington Palace,” she replied. “Once the weather improves it will get busy with all the tourists visiting.” 

“Kensington Palace?” Draco echoed, his brow furrowed.

“It’s where the Queen lives.” 

“Muggles have a queen?” 

“English Muggles do.” Hermione smiled, remembering that the man beside her knew very little about the world she had been born into.

“Can we meet her?” Draco queried enthusiastically. “I’ve never met a queen before.”

Laughing, Hermione shook her head. “Security around the palace is very tight and very few people are granted an audience with her. Besides, she’s quite elderly now and doesn’t spend much time in the public eye anymore.”

“Oh.” He looked so disappointed she felt a bit sorry for him. 

“She’s just another person, really,” she added. 

“I suppose,” Draco huffed.

“Look, we’re nearly there.” Hermione pointed to the exit ahead of them. “It’s just across the road.” They carried on out of the park and towards their destination. Minutes later, she was pushing open the door of a small establishment, a bell jingling merrily overhead announcing their arrival.

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger!” the man behind the counter called out.

“Hello, Sam, “ Hermione smiled at the middle-aged proprietor as she approached him. “How have you been?”

“Never better,” he smiled. “Will you take your usual?”

“Yes, thanks.” Turning to Malfoy, she asked him, “How do you take your tea?”

“Actually, I rather prefer coffee,” he answered to her surprise. She’d just never imagined him as a coffee person.

“Coffee, we have,” Sam interjected. “In fact, I’ve just put on a fresh pot. How do you take it?”

“Black, two sugars,” Draco replied.

Sam nodded. “Right-o. Why don’t you two take a seat and I’ll have your drinks out to you in a few minutes. Would you like menus?”

“Yes, please,” Hermione smiled, and Sam handed her two folders. Leading the way, Hermione walked towards a table near the window, but Malfoy stopped her. She turned to him, curious.

“Erm… do you mind if we sit... A bit further back?” he asked cautiously. Hermione nodded, frowning, and turned away to lead them to a small booth situated against a wall, near the rear of the cafe.

“Thanks,” Draco sighed, relaxing into the plush seat.

“Is everything all right, Malfoy?” Hermione queried, looking at him closely. “You’ve been acting oddly since you arrived.”

“Oddly?” Draco repeated, looking uncomfortable.

“Yes,  _ oddly,”  _ Hermione repeated firmly, her voice slightly on edge. “Jumpy. As if you’re worried about being seen—” she stopped herself from blurting out the rest of the sentence and felt a blush cover her cheeks.

Unfortunately, she was not saved from further embarrassment as Malfoy, quirking an eyebrow, finished for her. “Seen with  _ you,  _ you mean?”

“I—” Hermione looked down at her hands, feeling her face inflame further. 

“Well, you’re half right,” he sighed, and she snapped up her head to look at him, shock and a pang of hurt blooming in her chest. She met his eyes, ready to deliver a rebuke and stopped. He looked… sad, uncomfortable.

“What do you mean?” she pressed.

“I’m not worried about being seen _with you,_ ” he continued quietly. “I’m worried about being seen in general.” For a moment she didn’t understand. Then realisation hit her, and she burned with shame. _Of course,_ _he would be nervous about being out in public!_ Although he had been pardoned, wizarding society as a whole did not look favourably upon him. No doubt he still had to deal with confrontations and filthy looks whenever he ventured into Wizarding London, and it was likely he was not welcome in some places.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, looking into his grey eyes. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I didn’t stop to think about the implications of asking you to meet me publicly. I was out of order.”

“It’s fine,” Malfoy gave her a small smile. “Our history doesn’t exactly set the groundwork for mutual trust.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” she agreed, still feeling guilty. “Have you faced much trouble since you were exonerated?”

“Truthfully, I don’t venture out much at all,” Malfoy answered. “And if I do, I usually don’t go as myself.” Hermione looked at him quizzically. and he explained, “Polyjuice. Sometimes a glamour if I’m only making a short trip.” She nodded in understanding.

“Here’s your drinks,” came a cheery voice, and they looked up to see Sam with two steaming cups on a tray, as well as a teapot, small milk jug, and a bowl piled with sugar lumps. He placed the items down on the table and smiled. “Are you ready to order?”

“Oh!” Hermione gasped. “We haven’t even looked at our menus yet! Can we have a few more minutes?”

“Of course,” Sam winked at her. “Just give me a wave when you’re ready.” He headed back to the counter. Picking up the folder in front of her, Hermione examined the list, though she already knew it by heart. It was always so hard to decide what to have. She glanced over the top of the menu to see Malfoy’s brow furrowed in concentration as his eyes flicked over the options.

“I don’t know what to have,” he said finally. “It all sounds quite good.”

“The burger and chips are delicious,” she suggested. “The bangers and mash are amazing, too.”

“I’ve never had a burger,” Malfoy murmured. “What is it?” Hermione looked at him in mild surprise before remembering that with his background, burgers would not have been something he would be likely to encounter.

“It’s meat and sauce in a bun,” she explained. “The meat is commonly beef or chicken, and they feature a range of fillings. The one they serve here has lettuce, tomato, onion, and cheese.”

“It sounds interesting,” he replied. “I’ll have that, then.”

“I will, too,” she decided. All the talk of burgers had made her crave just that. She gestured to Sam, and he came right over with his notepad out. “What’ll it be, then?” he smiled.

“Two burgers and chips, please.” 

“Coming right up,” Sam nodded, jotting down their order. He headed back to the counter to send their orders to the kitchen. Hermione picked up the milk jug, adding a splash of milk, followed by a single sugar cube. She looked up as she was stirring to see Malfoy watching her intently. As her eyes met his, he looked quickly down at his own cup. Reaching for the sugar bowl, he added two lumps and stirred before taking a sip. 

He hummed appreciatively and smiled at her. “This is good coffee.”

“Well, this cafe is one of the best,” she grinned.

“How long have you been coming here?” Malfoy asked curiously, looking around. “You seem to know it very well if being on a first-name basis with the owner is any indication.”

“I used to come here with my parents,” she replied, feeling a momentary pang of sadness as she did whenever she thought of them.

“Your parents—didn’t they disappear?” Malfoy asked, frowning slightly as he remembered. “The D— _ Voldemort _ sent men after them, but they came back reporting that they were nowhere to be found. He was  _ pissed. _ ”

“I kept them safe,” she replied. She wasn’t willing to tell him the extent of what had happened or where they were, much less her worries that she would not find them again. And  _ What if she couldn’t undo the memory charm? _ It was something that haunted her every day. It still wasn’t safe to go looking for them, not when the war had barely ended and some of Voldemort’s supporters and sympathisers were still out there. But one day…

“Granger.” A voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked back at Malfoy, slightly startled. She felt heat on her palms and glanced down to see she was gripping her teacup tightly with both hands. “Are you all right?” he continued, his voice laced with concern. “You drifted off.”

“Yes, I’m okay,” she tried to smile at him reassuringly. “It’s just difficult… I can’t say much more about the situation.”

“I understand,” Malfoy nodded. “So,” he added with a smile, “I take it the book helped you with your work?”

“Oh!” she beamed at him, remembering why they were there in the first place. “Yes, marvellously! It held all the ancient symbols I needed to complete the translations.” She reached into her bag, pulling out the shrunken book and handing it back to him. “Thank you again, Malfoy.”

“You’re welcome, Granger. It’s good to know our library is of use to someone.” He took it, tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket and smiling. 

“I have a confession to make,” she said hesitantly. She had decided earlier that she would tell him about Ron's and Harry’s reactions to her being in possession of the book, just in case one of them confronted him about it at a later date. She knew that they would struggle to just let it go, despite her ordering them to do so. Before she could finish, Sam arrived with two steaming plates. The tall burgers were surrounded by generous helpings of chips, and Hermione’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. “Thank you, Sam,” she smiled.

He laid the plates before them, adding a bottle of tomato sauce. “Enjoy, you two.” Once he had departed, Hermione picked up her burger and took a big bite, humming happily at the taste. She looked over at Malfoy to see him once again watching her intently, although this time he seemed more focused on observing just how one went about eating a burger.   
  
“Do I just use my hands, like that?” he asked, indicating the way she held her food. Hermione nodded, and Malfoy hesitantly picked up his own burger, holding it gingerly with his pinkie fingers extended.

She sniggered. “Splay your fingers more,” she advised. “It helps hold everything in place.” He did as she said, adjusting his grip. “Now open your mouth wide,” she instructed. “Because it’s so large, you need to take a big bite.” Looking self-conscious, Malfoy bit into the burger and began to chew. A little bit of sauce dripped down the side of his mouth, but he didn’t appear to notice. His eyes closed, and he made a little noise of appreciation in the back of his throat. 

“It’s amazing,” he marvelled, once he had finished his mouthful. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.” He quickly took another bite, apparently no longer concerned about the method of eating. A second bit of sauce joined the first and began making its way down towards his chin. Hermione giggled at the sight—the prim, proper, and immaculately turned-out Draco Malfoy with food on his face was terribly amusing. She was willing to bet such a thing would have rarely if ever, happened to him before.

“What?” he asked, looking at her quizzically.

Still smiling, Hermione indicated the side of his mouth. “You have a little drip…” Malfoy swiped at his face and examined his hand, regarding the smear on his fingers with mild horror. “It’s only sauce, Malfoy. Lick it off.”

“Lick?” he echoed, looking at her as if she was mad.

“Yes. Like this.” Hermione used her finger to catch a bit of sauce which had been threatening to escape from her own burger, and slowly licked it from her skin while Malfoy watched with a strange expression on his face. “Go on,” she urged. “Live a little.” Shrugging, Malfoy delicately licked the sauce off his fingers, his pink tongue creeping out to clean the mess. The sight did funny things to her insides. For the next few minutes, they were silent as they ate, concentrating on their food. Hermione finished her burger and picked up the bottle of tomato sauce, squeezing a generous amount on her plate and digging into her chips. 

“So,” Malfoy said, wiping his hands and face on a paper napkin before starting on his own chips, “what were you about to confess earlier?”

“Oh. Yes.” Hermione sat up straight and looked him in the eye. “I had some trouble with Harry and Ron over the book. They got rather upset when they found out it came from your library.” Malfoy merely watched her, waiting for her to continue. “They wanted to take it to the Auror department and have it checked,” she explained, getting angry all over again as she recalled the argument.

“They wanted to confiscate it?” Malfoy frowned. 

“Yes, because they thought you might be trying to harm me,” Hermione ranted, her voice hardening. “I tried to explain you wouldn’t do that and were merely trying to help, but they insisted that the book was probably full of dark magic. I told them and told them there was no dark magic whatsoever tied to it but they just wouldn’t listen to me, no matter how many times I said it. Honestly, those two should know by now that I’m perfectly capable of recognising dark magic, and besides, I know you would never have sent it to me if that was the case because that would be—” she abruptly halted her tirade at the look on his face. “I’m sorry, Malfoy,” she sighed. “I didn’t mean to offend you or seem ungrateful. I just wish Harry and Ron would  _ trust  _ me for once—”

“Granger,” Malfoy interrupted, his voice a croak. He cleared his throat, looking decidedly uncomfortable, and tried again. “The book—it  _ did  _ hold dark magic.”

“ _ What?” _ Hermione frowned. “But I didn’t sense any, and I haven’t experienced any symptoms—”

“I removed the curses attached to it before I sent it to you,” Malfoy continued in a rush. “I knew you would find it useful, but it belonged to my grandfather, and he was rather fond of placing curses and hexes on his most prized objects to prevent anyone other than a Pure-blood from using them.”

“What kind of curses?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

“Nasty ones,” Malfoy admitted. “That particular book had one that would disfigure any part of the body that came into contact with it and trigger a blood curse which would be passed on to any children the victim might have in the future. The curse would cause the victim to die slowly and painfully ten years after encountering it.”

Hermione cringed. “How evil.”

“Yes, well, that was my grandfather for you. He was a blood purist of the highest order, as were all my ancestors.”

“And you removed them?” she asked, admiration in her voice. “That must have been dangerous. Removing dark curses from objects isn’t easy.”

“It took me a while,” Malfoy nodded, “but I managed to escape lasting injury.”

“You were injured?” Hermione gasped in shock. “Surely sending me a book wasn’t worth putting yourself at risk like that!”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her with a sardonic smile. “The only thing injured was my ears, having to listen to Grandfather and the other Malfoy ancestors hurl obscenities and threats at me from their portraits in the library. They were so upset, they kept jumping to different frames to avoid being silenced. It was incredibly distracting, but eventually, I silenced every single portrait in the wing to shut them up.”

Hermione looked at Malfoy in disbelief. “You…  _ silenced _ an entire wing of your ancestors’ portraits?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “They were extremely put out. They lowered themselves to making rude gestures at me whenever I glanced in their direction.”

“I wish I could have been there to see it for myself.” Hermione snorted with laughter at the thought of Malfoy’s ancestors resorting to such crude actions as well as how serious he seemed to be about the whole thing.

“Perhaps you could meet them one day,” Malfoy suggested with a cheeky grin. “It would upset them a great deal to see a Muggle-born in the house. They might make rude gestures at you, too.”

“You’re very cruel, do you know that, Malfoy?” Hermione chastised him gently. “Trying to deliberately upset your ancestors like that. They might never recover.”

“I really don’t care either way,” he replied, his expression frank. “I’ve had enough of their blood purist shite.” Hermione, too shocked to speak following the latest display of Malfoy’s apparent new leaf, could only nod sagely.

“Well, all the same, thank you for going to so much effort on my behalf,” she smiled after a moment. “It means a lot that you did that. Still,” she continued, frowning. “I’d prefer it if the matter of the curses was kept strictly between us. I’d never hear the end of it from Harry and Ron, and they’d never let me borrow a book from you again.”

“My lips are sealed,” Draco grinned. “It would be a real pity if you never got to read another book from our collection. Perhaps you could come and visit the library yourself if you’d like?” he looked at her in a way she couldn’t quite discern, almost hopeful.

Although a part of her— the part of her that all too vividly remembered a screaming Bellatrix carving into her soft flesh and torturing her on the floor of the drawing room—wanted to recoil from the idea of ever setting foot in Malfoy Manor again, the siren song of an entire library, as yet unexplored, called to her just as alluringly as the sirens themselves had called to many a doomed sailor.

“I would like that,” she nodded. She suddenly thought of the medical texts she had sent Malfoy to thank him for sending her the book on runes. 

“What’s your opinion on Muggle medicine?” she asked, curious.

“Oh!” A cloud passed over his sharp features, causing her to draw her brows together in worry.  _ Did he not like them? _ She wondered. “They were very interesting,” he added shiftily.

“If they weren’t your cup of tea, Malfoy, you don’t need to be polite,” Hermione replied, trying to sound positive and mask the disappointment that had sunk into her chest.

“Oh, no, I did enjoy them, thank you,” Malfoy stammered, not looking at her, “It’s just that some of the pictures were very—um—detailed.”

Hermione quirked her lips in amusement. “Are you  _ squeamish,  _ Malfoy?” she teased. “The human body is nothing to be repulsed by, you know.”

“Yes, well—” He looked uncomfortable. “Most of it was fine, but then I opened the anatomy book on a page about  _ childbirth  _ and _ —”  _ Malfoy shuddered, mild revulsion passing over his face. “Let’s just say I’m not sure I can enjoy the company of women in quite the same way, knowing what happens—erm— _ down there _ —when the baby comes out.” Hermione simply gaped at Malfoy for a moment. She had the mad urge to laugh, but she sensed if she did it would only embarrass him further and perhaps offend him. Just a year previously, she would have jumped at the chance to embarrass and offend Draco Malfoy, but now she just…  _ didn’t want to. _ Also, she felt a blush rise unbidden up her neck at the thought of Malfoy enjoying the company of women.

“Um, well,” her voice came out in an undignified squeak. “Childbirth isn’t dignified and it certainly isn’t tidy; it’s rather messy and painful.”

“Did you know—” Malfoy leaned forward and whispered in a scandalised tone, “—that the cervix stretches to  _ ten centimetres?” _

“Yes, I am aware,” Hermione replied evenly, doing her best not to look at him.  _ How did I progress to sitting here and discussing the mechanics of childbirth with Draco Malfoy? _

“Oh. Of course, you do,” Malfoy muttered, blushing and slumping back in his seat. “You  _ have _ one. A cervix, I mean.” Hermione could feel her face burning with embarrassment. Merlin, this was so  _ awkward!  _ Worse than that time her mother had sat her down to have the ‘sex and periods’ talk with her just before she began her first year at Hogwarts.

“Um, perhaps a change of subject?” she suggested, her voice high-pitched.

“Yes, I would appreciate that very much,” Malfoy’s head bobbed enthusiastically. They sat there in uncomfortable, heavy silence for several moments, both desperately trying to think of something to say.

“So, what do you do these days?” she asked.

“Do you fly? On a broom, I mean?” he blurted at the same time. The moment was enough to dispel the tension, and they both laughed. “You first,” he invited, with a flick of his hand. She couldn’t help but notice his long, elegant fingers.

“Oh no, I don’t fly,” Hermione answered with a determined shake of her head. I  _ hate _ it. It’s terrifying! And—” she paused, not wanting to admit what she was about to say. “I’m terrible at flying.  _ Horrid  _ at it. I just can’t seem to get the hang of it at all.”

“You?” Malfoy hooted in amusement. “Horrid at something? Miss know-it-all, top-of-the-class-in-everything  _ Hermione Granger _ ?”

“You don’t have to keep banging on about it,” she muttered petulantly, folding her arms across her chest.

“But Weasley and Potter can both handle a broom. Could they not have taught you?” he asked.

“They’ve tried, both of them,” Hermione admitted, dropping her shoulders in resignation. “It’s hopeless. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m destined to travel strictly by Floo or Apparition and, on occasion and only when strictly necessary, by Portkey.”

“That’s a pity,” Malfoy softly. “Being on a broom is amazing. You feel  _ free. _ ”

“And what about you?” Hermione prompted, wanting to get off the ghastly subject of brooms and flying. “What do you do these days?”

“Mostly, I just stay at the Manor, reading or flying, or spending time with Mother,” he said, shrugging. “She gets quite lonely stuck at home. She’s used to going out to society events and seeing friends, but she can’t really do that these days.”

Hermione nodded in sympathy. “It must be hard on you both, feeling like you’re confined.”

“Well, it’s the new normal,” he sighed. “I don’t imagine the public’s perception of me will change anytime soon.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Hermione admitted. “There are a lot of people who aren’t willing to let things go. I certainly don’t blame them, but it’s not helpful.” She looked at her watch and was amazed to see they had been sitting in the cafe for nearly an hour. The few chips that remained on their plates were cold and shriveled, the last swirls of sauce congealed. 

“I suppose we’d better go,” she said with some regret. She stood to pay, but Malfoy reached out to stop her.

“Let me,” he implored.

“No way,” she replied, firmly. “I said I would treat you to thank you for your help!”

“But—it’s not—” he stammered under her unyielding gaze that just dared him to protest. “It doesn’t feel right to let the woman pay.”

Hermione simply huffed and rolled her eyes. “Such a  _ male _ thing to say.” She rushed over to pay before Malfoy could intervene, poking her tongue out at him over her shoulder as she went. Once she had settled the bill, Hermione allowed Malfoy to open the door for her, nodding her thanks and calling out a farewell to Sam.

“Come back soon, luv, you hear?” Sam called cheerily from the counter.

Outside on the street, they stood awkwardly, neither sure of what to do next. Draco looked around at the plain Muggle street. He knew he and Granger would be parting ways soon, but he wasn’t ready for that to happen. Despite that, he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of extending their time together, or even if she would be amenable to the suggestion.

“Can I walk you back through the park?” he asked, and she nodded, smiling. While they had been in the cafe, threatening grey clouds had begun to gather and now the sky was heavy with impending rain. Thunder rumbled overhead as they hurried through the park.

“Merlin’s balls!” Hermione grumbled beside him. “I forgot my umbrella.”

“No matter,” Draco replied, beginning to take his wand from his pocket. “I’ll just cast a water-repelling charm—”

“ _ No, Malfoy!”  _ she hissed, clamping a hand over his arm. “A Muggle might see!” His head shot up in surprise; he had completely forgotten about that particular complication.

“What do we do then?” he asked with a worried frown. Another crack of thunder sounded, a flash of lightning arched across the leaden sky, and with a hiss, the rain started pouring down.

“We run!” Hermione shrieked, laughing. Before Draco could react, she was sprinting away from him, her coat pulled up over her head in an attempt to shield her from the heavy droplets pelting down around them. Quickly, he ran after her. 

As they barreled through the park, passing the few others who had been caught in the weather, Draco felt a surge inside him. It was so foreign, he struggled to identify it. The feeling was similar to the way he felt when riding his broom. He felt light, free. It was a simple joy, a moment where he wasn’t bogged down with worries and self-consciousness. A laugh bubbled up from his chest, escaping his lips before he could stifle it as he chased Granger down the path, splashing through puddles and soaking his shoes. He was surprised to find he didn’t give a shit. Who knew that running through the rain, giggling like a fool and getting soaked in the process, would be so much  _ fun? _

Draco caught up to Granger as she reached the exit, and together they dashed across the road towards a building with an awning that would provide them some shelter. Panting and giggling, they vainly attempted to shake the water from their bodies and clothing. A moment later, Draco let out a squeak of surprise and mild indignation as Granger shook her head like a dog, showering him with droplets of rain from her wild mass of curls. 

“Hey!” he cried, wiping his face.

“Sorry,” she laughed, pushing her sodden hair out of her face - or, at least, attempting to. The moisture had caused her mane to expand into an alarmingly large, frizzy halo around her head. The sight caused Draco to begin laughing himself. Her hair really had a mind of its own.

“Your hair is a  _ menace _ , Granger,” he teased, lifting a handful and tugging on it gently. “Are you sure it isn’t possessed?”

Granger pulled her curls free of his grip with a huff. “More hair jokes,” she grumbled.

“I’m sorry. It’s just so  _ big, _ ” Draco observed, failing to keep the smirk from his lips.

“Don’t I know it,” she sighed, squeezing the sodden mass in an attempt to wring some of the excess water from it. Draco shivered slightly and noticed Granger was doing the same. 

“We should get out of the rain before we catch our death,” he said. On a whim, he blurted, “Let’s go to The Three Broomsticks. We can dry off and get a butterbeer.”

Granger looked up at him, startled. “But what about you being seen by other people?” Draco shrugged, suddenly not caring much what people thought of him, as long as he was with Granger. 

“What could happen in a room full of people?” he replied.

She looked pensive as she considered the offer, but a moment later her face broke into a small smile. “That sounds like a brilliant idea,” she nodded. They stepped out of the rain together and hurried to the apparition point. Draco offered his arm and Granger took it. With a  _ crack, _ he had whisked them away.

They arrived in bustling Hogsmeade and immediately cast water-repelling and drying charms on themselves, sighing in relief as the cold melted from their bones. Once they were comfortable, they made their way along the main path until they reached the Three Broomsticks, and stepped inside.

As the door opened, the patrons looked up and the murmur of conversation rippling through the room slowly dried up, replaced with silence. All eyes were on them, and Draco suddenly cursed himself for suggesting the popular pub.  _ What was I thinking? _ He wondered. Next to him, he sensed movement. Granger had squared her shoulders and was meeting the stares and glares of the pub’s patrons with a steely gaze of her own, silently daring each and every one of them to say something, to issue a challenge, to so much as  _ twitch _ . Slowly, the watchers began to turn their heads to avoid her unblinking stare. 

Nodding in satisfaction, she muttered, “That’s what I thought.” Turning to him, she jerked her head towards the bar. “Come on, Malfoy. “Let’s get that butterbeer.” Before he could say a word, she was striding towards the counter, nodding at Madam Rosmerta, who eyed them both warily. Draco had done his best to make amends with the older witch after placing her under the  _ Imperius _ curse in sixth year, and although she claimed to have forgiven him, she clearly still did not trust him.

“Granger,” he said quietly to the curly-haired witch. “Perhaps we should find another establishment. One that has a less hostile atmosphere.”

“We can’t leave now,” she hissed back at him. “These arseholes will think you’re running, and it will just make things worse.”

Draco, in actual fact, wanted nothing more than to run. He could feel the silent loathing coming at him in waves. However, he knew she was right. If he turned and fled now with his tail between his legs like a cowed dog, it would only serve to reinforce the overwhelmingly negative sentiment most of Wizarding Britain held towards him.

“Two hot Butterbeers, please, Madam Rosmerta,” Granger said firmly. The proprietress nodded wordlessly and went to fetch their order, returning a few moments later with two tankards filled with the golden liquid. Granger went to reach for her purse, but Draco put a hand on her arm.

“You paid for lunch; let me get this,” he said quietly. “I insist.” Granger huffed quietly, but smiled and nodded her thanks. Once he had paid, they picked up their drinks and looked around for an empty table. Draco spotted one in a corner and led them to it. He carefully kept his eyes firmly on their destination, looking straight ahead. Despite this, he could feel the eyes of the other patrons boring into his back.

Taking his seat, Draco took a long swallow of his drink. “Everyone is still staring,” he muttered. Now a hum started up around them, whispers and mutters that he couldn’t help but overhear as they floated over to where they sat.

_ “What’s  _ **_he_ ** _ doing here?” _

_ “Never mind what that scum is doing here, what is _ **_she_ ** _ doing here with _ **_him_ ** ?”

_ “Maybe he’s got her under the Imperius, too?” _

_ “Who, her? There’s no way—” _

_ “He’s got some nerve—” _

_ “D’you think Harry and Ron know—?” _

Draco very much wished he could sink into a crack in the floor. He fervently wished he had never suggested it - surely there were other, less popular pubs they could have gone to. Hell, he shouldn’t have suggested it at all—!

Granger’s chair scraped back as she stood abruptly, staring down the people around them. “Right! Listen up!” Her tone, which booked no disagreement, carried clearly across the room. “Yes, I’m here with Malfoy. Yes, I’m here of my own free will and he has as much right to be here as anyone else. He has made a genuine effort to offer reparation for the things he did, and  _ may I remind you all _ that he was  _ still in school _ when Voldemort was a threat! The Ministry has seen fit to give him a chance, and so have I! If anyone has a problem with him being here, I invite you to come over here and say so to our faces.” None did. Her fierce glare darted around the room, marking each and every face that stared up at her with a mixture of resentment, nervousness, and fear. 

“Well, then,” she said in satisfaction, tossing her hair over her shoulder and resuming her seat. Draco stared at her, open-mouthed with amazement. “What?” she asked him, sipping nonchalantly on her butterbeer.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before summoning the courage to speak. “Merlin, you’re  _ terrifying. _ ”

“Well, I  _ did _ face down numerous Death Eaters, not to mention Voldemort himself. A few disgruntled members of the public are nothing compared to that.” Granger gave him a wry grin. 

He laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Ignore them,” she continued airily. “They clearly don’t have the balls to say anything to your face. So what if they say things behind your back instead?”

“Well...” Although he feigned an air of indifference, Draco didn’t want to admit that the things people said behind his back still got to him. He knew he would never escape the glares, whispers, and muttered insults. He just wanted to be allowed to go about in public unmolested, if not accepted. 

“Well?” Granger prompted him gently. 

Draco sighed. “I’m concerned that it’s not just talking that might happen behind my back.” He secretly feared he would be attacked when his back was turned. Even more than that, he feared that if he did act to defend himself,  _ he _ would end up facing the Aurors, and possibly even Azkaban.

“I know that feeling.” She nodded in sympathetic understanding. 

“You do?” He asked, frowning.

“Back in school, if you’ll recall, I was bullied rather a lot,” she began, and Draco squirmed with shame. Quite a bit of that bullying could be attributed to him and his gang of cronies.

“Granger, I—” 

Holding up a hand to silence him, she continued, “Although it hurt, I became accustomed to the whispers and giggles, the looks and insults. I spent as much time as possible in Harry and Ron’s company because I was really worried about being hexed while my back was turned. They made me feel more secure.”

“Safety in numbers,” Draco murmured.

“That’s right.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have that asset,” he sighed. “Most people don’t want to be seen anywhere near me, and the few people that still want my company - Blaise, Theo, and Pansy, mostly - are almost as unpopular as I am. It’s just not worth the hassle to go out.”

“It’s just not fair that you should be confined like that!” Granger burst out, slamming her tankard and causing butterbeer to splash over her wrist and the table. She cleaned it away with an impatient wave of her wand and continued, “You did some shitty things— some  _ really _ shitty things— but you saw sense at the crucial moment. Besides, thanks to your inside knowledge we were finally able to round up the fugitive Voldemort supporters who posed the biggest risk to us. Without your help, they would still be at large and all these—these  _ dunderheads _ would be in danger!”

“Thank you for saying that.” Draco smiled at Granger’s use of Snape’s signature insult. He missed the man who had been one of his few confidantes at Hogwarts, and who had ultimately saved him from certain death by taking over the monstrous task Voldemort had assigned him. “But,  _ dunderheads _ though they may be, they don’t know of my involvement in rounding those men up and that’s the way I would prefer to keep it.”

“Which makes it all the more infuriating,” Granger acquiesced begrudgingly. “Here they are, in their ignorance,  _ judging  _ you and—”

“Granger.” Draco placed his free hand over hers, causing her to jerk her head up to meet his eyes. He twitched at the electricity that passed between them, and he was almost overcome with the mad urge to lean across the table and kiss her. But no, that might shatter the fragile beginnings of the friendship they seemed to be building. “It means a lot to hear you defend me,” he continued. “You have no idea how much. Thank you.”

She looked away, seemingly embarrassed by his words, and blushed. “Well, it’s like I said at the gala,” she replied quietly. “We need to move past old hostilities so we can move forward as a society.”

“It’s a pity opinions like yours are very much in the minority. But then again, you always did have a propensity for standing out in the crowd and ruffling a few feathers,” Draco quipped.

“Oh come on,” Granger scoffed. “I wasn’t  _ that _ bad.”

In response, Draco bolted upright and thrust his hand into the air. He bounced up and down in his seat, an eager, anxious expression on his face.  _ “Oh, Professor, I know the answer!” _ he said in a high falsetto voice. She fixed him with a glare that would have rivaled Professor McGonagall’s, and he lowered his hand and relaxed his posture, sniggering.

“I do  _ not _ sound like that!” she exclaimed in a pitch that was very like the one Draco had just used. His sniggers turned into chuckles, which turned into guffaws as he watched her outrage grow and her cheeks turn pink.

“Draco Malfoy,” she said between clenched teeth. “If you do not stop laughing  _ right now, _ I swear in Godric’s name I will hex your balls off!” As terrifying as the thought was, it was very difficult to calm himself down, and he was forced to bite hard on the insides of his cheeks and look away from her. Once he had regained his composure, Draco looked back at her to see if she was still cross. He was relieved to observe she seemed to be trying to keep a straight face. The only tell was the slight quirk of her lips, which she tried to disguise as a grimace.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised. “You really weren’t that bad.”

“That’s what I thought,” she sniffed.

“Perhaps I could take you to Fortescue’s by way of an apology?” Draco suggested hopefully.

“Bit cold and wet for ice cream, isn’t it?” Granger observed.

“Well, yes,” he admitted. It’s just—”

“Just what?” Granger asked, tilting her head to one side. “Did you know you have a terrible habit of not completing your sentences?”

“I don’t!” he protested, knowing full well he had been doing just that today. Granger simply quirked an eyebrow at him and waited.

“It’s just—  _ I’mhavingalovelytimewithyou andIdon’twantittoend,”  _ he burst out in a rush.

“Say again?” Granger prompted in confusion. “You should open your mouth a little wider when you speak.” Draco felt his face heat and hated to think how red he must be. He  _ never _ blushed. He had always been the epitome of calm and was mortified by his awkward stammering.

“I said that—” he looked nervously down at his hands, his heart beating a staccato against his ribcage. “I’m having a lovely time with you and don’t want it to end.” After a moment he glanced up carefully to gauge her reaction. To his surprise, she was smiling at him. 

“I’ve been having a lovely time, too,” she said quietly. “I haven’t laughed this much in ages.”

“Well then. That’s great,” Draco grinned. “So… Fortescue’s?”

“How about Flourish and Blotts?” Granger suggested. “I still say it’s far too cold and wet for ice cream.”

“I strongly disagree; it’s  _ never _ too cold or wet for ice cream,” Draco retorted, standing to pull on his coat. “However, your suggestion is almost as good. Flourish and Blotts, it is.” The way she beamed at him as she pulled on her own coat lifted his already burgeoning spirits even further. Merlin, he would do  _ anything _ to make her smile at him like that!

They made their way to the door and stepped out into the twilight. By now it was late afternoon and the winter sun was rapidly setting. The rain had stopped, but a deep chill had set in as the sun’s limited warmth ebbed. Setting off at a quick pace, the two made their way across the street, preparing to apparate to the huge book store situated in Diagon Alley. 

Suddenly, there was a scrape on stone behind them and a muttered curse. Draco reached for his wand and began to turn, but before he could complete the movement Granger had whipped around, wandlessly casting a powerful shield charm. The curse bounced harmlessly off it, sailing into the air. In a lighting speed counterattack, she flicked her wand and ropes flew from it to bind the attacker.  _ She didn’t even verbalize the spell, _ Draco had time to observe with amazement.

“How  _ dare  _ you attack someone when their back is turned!  _ Coward! _ ” she shouted, striding over to the bound figure who was shrouded in a heavy cloak. Draco was forcibly reminded of the time Mad-Eye Moody - or rather, Barty Crouch Jr, impersonating the infamous ex-Auror - had said almost those exact words to him after he had tried to attack Potter in fourth year. Those words had led to one of the most terrifying experiences of his life until Voldemort moved in - being turned into a ferret and bounced around like a rubber ball. He watched avidly, part of him wondering whether Granger might turn his attacker into a small, furry animal, and the other part of him still in shock at her multiple feats of wandless magic.

Following the commotion, a small crowd had begun to gather around, murmuring curiously. Meanwhile, Granger had reached the unknown assailant and ripped the hood covering his face back to reveal a middle-aged man who Draco recognised only from earlier in the Three Broomsticks.

“So you didn’t have the balls to challenge a man face-to-face, but you’ll sneak up behind him and try to catch him unawares?” she growled heatedly.

“What are you even  _ doing _ with him?” the man shouted back up at her, struggling vainly at the ropes. “And why in Morgana’s name would you  _ defend _ him?”

“Because he deserves a second chance!” Granger shouted back. She looked up to survey the crowd, eyeing each and every one of them again in that unsettling way she had earlier that afternoon. “We are supposed to be moving forward and trying to work together!” she continued, her face flushed with anger. “We can’t rebuild and grow if we are holding on to old grudges and attacking each other!”

“She’s got a point,” someone in the crowd murmured.

“Did he  _ really _ attack Malfoy from behind?” asked another.

“Yes,” Granger replied. “This  _ loathsome cockroach _ —” Draco tried to suppress a smile at the memory of the time she had used those words on him, right before punching him square in the nose. Gods, it had hurt, but he had deserved it. “—this  _ snake _ tried to sneak up behind us and fired a curse at Malfoy without so much as a warning, completely unprovoked!”

“Don’t blame him, really,” someone muttered, to a scattered rumble of agreement, and Granger fired one of her glares in the direction of the speaker. No one else spoke in support of the man.

“Attacking someone unawares is completely out of order,” came a clear female voice, and the crowd parted, allowing Madam Rosmerta to make her way over to them. She looked down at the man before her with distaste. “Jones! What are you thinking, you bloody fool?”

“Didn’t like seeing him in your place,” Jones replied sulkily. “After what he did to you, and all.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to take matters into your own hands and attack my customers!” the witch replied crossly. Jones didn’t argue further, simply glaring down at the cobblestones beneath him. Rosmerta glanced over at Draco. “You all right, Malfoy?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied. “He didn’t have a hope against Granger here.”

“I saw it!” piped up a small voice, and a boy who looked to be eleven or twelve pushed through the adults to the front. “She cast a huge shield charm without a wand! Then conjured ropes without using a spell!” The crowd murmured their approval and gave a light smattering of applause, causing Granger to duck her head in embarrassment.

“Well, I’m pleased to hear you’re unharmed, Malfoy,” Rosmerta answered. “You’re welcome in The Three Broomsticks any time.” She turned to the hapless Jones. “As for you, Jones, you are banned for three months. Be thankful it’s not longer.”

“And that goes for all of you,” she added, raising her voice and addressing the crowd. “Anyone who attacks any customer of mine unprovoked, whether inside or outside my establishment,  _ will _ be banned. Now carry on with your business, all of you. There’s nothing more to see.” She dismissed them with a wave of her hand, and the bystanders began to slowly disperse.

With a  _ crack _ of Apparition, a man in Auror’s robes arrived. “We had reports of a disturbance,” he said, looking around. Spying Jones, still bound, he continued, “Anyone care to tell me what happened here?”

“Jones attacked Draco Malfoy, Robbins,” Rosmerta spoke up. “Just after Malfoy left my pub..”

“And what did Malfoy do to Jones to warrant the attack?” Robbins asked, looking between Rosmerta and Jones, ignoring Draco and Granger completely.

“Nothing. It was entirely unjustified,” she replied. “Malfoy and Granger came in, had a drink, kept to themselves and left.”

“Granger? Hermione Granger?”

For the first time, Robbins seemed to notice her standing there.

“What were you doing with Malfoy?” he challenged her.

“ _ Not  _ that it’s any of your business, but we did exactly as Madam Rosmerta said,” Granger said, folding her arms over her chest. “We came in, had a drink, and left.”

“And did you exchange words with anyone?”

“No. They were all too cowardly to say something to our faces. Even when I stood up and challenged them to step forward, no one would.”

“I see,” Robbins said, his tone disbelieving. “And what happened after that?”

“We left The Three Broomsticks and intended to visit Flourish and Blotts, but this man attacked Malfoy.”

“And Malfoy then retaliated and bound him?”

“ _No!_ _I_ bound him, after first casting a shield charm to block the curse he aimed at Malfoy’s back after he snuck up behind us!”

Robbins looked at Madam Rosmerta as if to confirm the account, and looked disappointed when she nodded in agreement. “A boy witnessed the whole thing, but I don’t know where he went.”

Begrudgingly, Robbins turned to Draco. “Mister Malfoy, do you wish to press charges? He was sorely tempted, if only to further shame the man, but deduced it would be more trouble than it was worth.  _ Besides,  _ he thought wryly,  _ Granger did say we should be moving forward and forgiving old hostilities. _

“No, Auror Robbins, that won’t be necessary,” Draco drawled, eyeing Jones with contempt. “Madam Rosmerta has banned him from The Three Broomsticks for three months. I think that’s punishment enough.”

“You’re sure?” Robbins prompted.

“I’m sure. I’d rather just forget about the whole thing,” Draco replied, flicking his fingers impatiently.

“Very well,” Robbins sighed, appearing slightly disappointed. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way.” With another  _ crack _ , the Auror disappeared, leaving Rosmerta, Granger, Draco, and Jones alone.

“You mind letting me up, now?” Jones grumbled from his position on the ground. “My arms are going numb.” Granger gave a flick of her wand and the ropes disappeared. Jones stood, brushed himself off, and glared at them all before storming off without a word.

Turning to Rosmerta, Draco said, “Thank you for your support, madam. It means a lot to me.”

The older woman inclined her head gracefully. “So long as you don’t cause any trouble, Mister Malfoy, you’ll continue to get it,” she replied. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d better get back to the bar before they start jumping the counter and attempting to serve themselves.” With a wave, she melted back into the rapidly darkening street, now lit with the soft glow of lamps.

“Where did you learn to react like that?” Draco asked, turning to Granger.

“What can I say? Being attacked by death Eaters on a regular basis and then going on the run from a maniac does wonders for your reflexes and casting abilities,” she said with a shrug.

“Well, thank you,” Draco replied humbly. “You had him before I even had a chance to get my wand out and turn around.”

“I hate cowards,” she glowered. Looking at her watch, she sighed in disappointment. “Flourish and Blotts will be just about to close. Maybe another day?”

“Another day,” Draco agreed, equally disappointed. They shared another awkward silence before he added, “Shall I owl you?”

“I’d like that,” she nodded.

“Well… thank you for a lovely afternoon… and for saving my arse,” he grinned at her.

“You’re welcome,” Granger smiled shyly at him. “Goodbye, Malfoy.”

“‘Bye, Granger.” Draco Apparated home, and couldn’t hide the ridiculous grin from his face as his mother came to greet him, wanting to know how his lunch with Granger had gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione looked up at the sound of tapping on her window. Her edition of the  _ Prophet  _ was here, delivered by one of the newspaper’s tawny owls. She paid it, took the paper to the table and sat down, untying the string and shaking it open, before picking up her tea and taking a sip. Moments later, she was choking on the hot liquid in shock at the headline.

**_Hermione Granger: Draco Malfoy’s Guardian Angel_ **

Beneath the headline was a large photo of her chastising the assembled crowd, Malfoy standing slack-jawed in shock behind her, and Jones bound at her feet. Groaning, she began to read, praying it wouldn’t be  _ too _ sensationalised.

_ A stand-off occurred last night in Hogsmeade when the infamous Draco Malfoy showed up at the Three Broomsticks, with none other than Golden Girl Hermione Granger in tow.  _

_ The first conflict occurred inside the establishment, with Miss Granger issuing a challenge to all patrons to confront her and Mister Malfoy head-on if they took exception to his presence.  _

_ The second took place when Miss Granger bound a regular patron of the Three Broomsticks, Michael Jones, after accusing him of attempting to attack Mister Malfoy from behind and without warning. Only one person supposedly saw this happen, a young child, who has not been able to be identified. _

_ However, Madam Rosmerta arrived on the scene soon after the incident occurred and also defended Mr Malfoy, immediately accepting Miss Granger’s claim and going so far as to ban Mr Jones from her establishment for a period of three months. Her reaction is surprising, to say the least, considering Mr Malfoy previously admitted to placing Madam Rosmerta under the  _ **_Imperius_ ** _ curse two years ago. Miss Granger also urged the crowd to move forward and work together instead of holding grudges and attacking one another. _

_ An Auror arrived on the scene to investigate, however, when the DMLE was contacted for comment, they would not offer any details, only saying that,  _

_ “All persons involved were questioned by the attending Auror and no charges have been laid. The alleged target did not wish to make a complaint, and it was decided no crime had been committed.” So far, both Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger have been silent on the matter, and Madam Rosmerta declined to comment on the incident. _

“Shit,” Hermione growled, crumpling the paper in her fists, her face dark. “Shit, shit,  _ shit.  _ Arse, fuck, bollocks.” Behind her, the Floo roared, causing her to jump. Even without turning around, she was fairly certain who it would be.

Sure enough, Harry’s outraged voice called out, “Hermione!”

Seconds later, the Floo roared a second time and Ron’s voice joined in. “Bloody  _ Malfoy,  _ ‘Mione?”

“Arse, shit, fucking bollocks,” Hermione muttered crossly, standing to confront her friends as they stormed into her kitchen. She picked up her wand and quickly used the Silencing Charm on them again before either of them could utter another word. She simply did  _ not  _ have the patience for a lecture right now. She was cheered up slightly by their outraged faces, mouths opening and closing, desperately trying to shout at her. Folding her arms across her chest, she patiently waited for them to stop fighting the silencing charm.

Eventually, they both appeared to give in, and she gestured to the table. “Tea?” she invited. Both nodded, moving to sit down, and she waved her wand again. The teapot reheated itself and poured into two cups, which then floated over to the table and placed themselves in front of Ron and Harry, along with milk and sugar. Wearing twin glares, Ron and Harry helped themselves, making their tea the way they liked it. Hermione rolled her eyes as Ron poured half the sugar bowl into his cup and drank. She sat opposite them and rested her arms on the table.

“Listen to me very carefully,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “I am not going to listen to any shit from either of you about me being in the paper defending Malfoy. This article—” she stabbed the offending paper viciously with her finger, tearing a hole in the crumpled ball, “is sensationalist and misleading. Jones  _ did _ attack Malfoy, and it  _ was _ from behind and completely unprovoked. I simply reacted first, before Malfoy got a chance. I cast a shield charm and bound Jones so he couldn’t harm Malfoy or anyone else. Then Auror Robbins showed up, blustered and made a bit of a show, and buggered off again. Furthermore, the witness was old enough to be in his first or second year at Hogwarts, and no one has bothered to contact me for comment - not that I would give one, anyway. Fucking vultures.” She raised a warning eyebrow. “Any questions?”

Both men nodded furiously, and Hermione shook her head in resignation. Them shouting at her was unavoidable, regardless of her earlier warning. She might as well remove the charm and let them get it out of their systems. As soon as they could speak again, they both started in at once, raising their voices over one another, as their frustration and concern poured out of them.

“What were you thinking—”

“—you could have been  _ hurt—” _

“—people are going to talk—”

“—what if the spell had hit  _ you, _ instead—

“—can’t be trusted—”

“—should just stay  _ away _ from him—”

“—Mum’s worried sick about you—”

“—and Ginny—”

“—he’s trouble, ‘Mione—”

“—he’s not like us—”

Hermione zoned out, fixing her eyes on a spot on the wall behind them, as they continued to rail.  _ Will they ever shut up?  _ She wondered in exasperation. When the irritating buzz of their voices stopped, she drew her gaze back to her friends. They gaped at her in annoyance and frustration. 

“Hermione,” said Ron, frowning. “Have you been listening to  _ anything _ we’ve said?”

“Not really,” she replied, disinterested. Ron’s ears turned red, a sure sign that he was about to lose his temper, and she slammed her hand down on the table, making the teacups rattle and causing Harry and Ron to jump.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed fiercely. “Don’t you  _ dare _ lecture me a moment longer! I am a  _ grown woman _ , for Merlin’s sake, and I do not need to seek your approval before socialising with anyone who isn’t on your little list of acceptable people!”

“But—” Ron tried to protest and Hermione held up her hand to stop him.

“Hermione.” She glanced over at Harry, a warning flashing in her eyes. To his credit, he didn’t flinch away under her gaze. “Can you at least tell us  _ why _ you were at the Three Broomsticks with Malfoy in the first place?”

“You mean, was I there of my own free will?” she bit out.

“No! I don’t mean that,” Harry replied defensively, but she didn’t miss the way his eyes briefly flicked away from her face as he spoke, betraying his lie.

Dropping her head in her hands, Hermione groaned softly. “Honestly, you two are impossible,” she lamented. Looking up at the men across from her, who were wearing concerned expressions, she huffed out a breath. “Malfoy and I went to lunch. I wanted to thank him for lending me the book—” 

“Did you ask him if it had been cursed?” Ron interrupted, and she frowned at his bluntness.

More adept at concealing her deception, Hermione’s eye contact with him did not waver when she answered testily, “ _ Yes, _ Ronald. And  _ no,  _ the book was not and never has been cursed.”

“Well. Um.” Ron rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from her. “That’s good, then.”

“You were saying, you went to lunch,” Harry prompted, ever the stickler for details. That and his doggedness when he wanted answers were some of the things that made him a good Auror, but also made him a real pain in the arse at times.

“We went to lunch then got caught in a rainstorm when we left, and we couldn’t use magic because we were in Kensington,” she continued. “At Malfoy’s suggestion, we got a drink at The Three Broomsticks so we could warm up and get ourselves dry. Then, we left to go to Flourish and Blotts, and Jones followed us out and attacked Malfoy in the street.”

“For no reason?” Harry pushed sceptically.

“ _ Yes,  _ for no reason! He didn’t say a word to anybody, he barely even made eye contact with anyone! He is  _ not _ at fault here, Harry. I know you both find that hard to believe, but it’s a fact.”

“Why would he suggest going to the Three Broomsticks in the first place? Isn’t the slimy git practically a hermit?” Ron chimed in.

“Well—” Hermione didn’t want to tell them that she had questioned Malfoy’s suggestion herself, and she wanted to share his reasoning for it even less. She knew Harry and Ron would get even more upset. “He wanted to try to integrate back into Wizarding society, and asked if I would accompany him so he didn’t feel so out of place,” she hazarded.

“And put you in danger in the process!” Ron retorted.

“Oh, please,” she snorted dismissively. “Jones was slow, noisy, and half-drunk. He was no real danger to anyone. And, might I remind you,” she added as Ron opened his mouth to argue, “I’ve faced down much worse than him.”

“What if you  _ had _ been faced with worse, though?” Harry asked quietly. “What if it had been one of Voldemort’s supporters, or someone else capable of and willing to use dark magic to get at Malfoy? People like that won’t care if you get caught in the crossfire.”

“I’m already at risk from those types of people!” Hermione exclaimed, exasperated. “I don’t need to be in Malfoy’s presence to be a target! We defeated Voldemort and helped put a great number of them in Azkaban, remember? We even  _ killed _ some of them. What do you expect me to do, Harry? Hide at home for the rest of my life, seeing no one?”

“No, it’s just—”

A tapping at the window interrupted their argument, and Hermione turned to see Malfoy’s owl waiting at her windowsill. She let it in and it dropped the letter it held in its beak, then hopped onto the countertop, eyeing the remains of her toast. 

“Go ahead,” she waved her hand at the plate. “Help yourself.” The owl dug in with gusto, munching contentedly on the crusts, while Hermione opened the letter.

“Whose owl is that?” Ron asked suspiciously.

“Malfoy’s,” she replied nonchalantly. “Isn’t he handsome?”

“He looks like a giant feather duster,” muttered Ron, and the owl looked up and snapped its beak crossly at the redheaded man, ruffling its feathers.

“There’s no need to be  _ rude,  _ Ronald,” Hermione chastised him as she read the letter.

_ Granger, _

_ I’m assuming you’ve seen the article in the  _ Prophet **_._ ** _ Ridiculous. I’ve been inundated with howlers, and Pansy even came over to interrogate me about what we were doing at the Three Broomsticks together. It’s the most attention I’ve received in months. _

_ Are you okay? Are Potter and the Weasel cross with you? Let me know you’re alright. Orion will wait for you to reply.  _

_ D.M _

Shaking her head and smiling, Hermione summoned a quill and parchment from her desk in the sitting room. “Excuse me a moment please, I just need to reply,” she said lightly. Bending over her parchment, she smirked slightly, knowing it would be driving her two meddlesome friends mad to know Malfoy was owling her and that she was responding immediately.

_ Malfoy, _

_ Thank you for your concern. I’m perfectly all right and am sorry to hear you’ve been receiving howlers. I haven’t had any myself, but Harry and Ron ( _ _ please _ _ stop calling him ‘Weasel’!) came over and have been shouting at me for the last ten minutes. Don’t worry, I can handle them. I can tell they’re quite put out that I’m replying to you right away. It’s very amusing. _ _   
  
_

_ Regards, _ _   
_ _ H.G _

_ P.S. I’m sorry to say Ronald offended Orion by likening him to a feather duster. If he’s irritable when he returns, that will be why. For what it’s worth, I think he’s very handsome. _

Handing the parchment to Malfoy’s owl, she sent it on its way and turned back to the table, her lips quirking at their hungry expressions.

“Well? What did he have to say for himself?” Ron demanded.

“That’s none of your business, Ronald,” Hermione replied airily, thoroughly enjoying the look of frustration on his face.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I would like to get ready for work, and I dare say the two of you should be doing the same.” Reluctantly, Harry and Ron stood and made their way to her Floo.

“Just… be careful, ‘Mione,” Ron pleaded as he passed her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione tsked impatiently. “I’ll be  _ fine,  _ Ron.” With a wave, the two men vanished in a roar of green flames. Hermione let out a sigh of relief and began to get ready for her day.

~xXx~  
  


Draco looked up as Orion flew through the conservatory window with Granger’s reply in his beak. After retrieving the letter, Draco tried to pet the bird, but Orion snapped his beak impatiently and flew to the opposite side of the room. 

“What’s got you in a snit?” Draco asked good-naturedly as he opened the letter and began to read. “That’s my girl,” he chuckled fondly at the end. His eyes snapped to the  _ P.S _ and his face darkened momentarily. Glancing over at Orion, who was clearly in a sulk, he asked, “Did that freckle-faced git really compare you to a feather duster?”

Orion, a very proud bird, hooted indignantly and flapped his wings in response.

“Well, ignore him,” Draco continued. “He’s always been an idiot, doesn’t recognise beauty around him when he sees it.”

Orion tossed his head as if to say, “Well,  _ duh. _ ”

Turning back to the missive in his hand, he added, “Granger has far better taste. She agrees you’re very handsome.” The bird preened at the compliment. Had he been able to speak in words, he  _ could _ have told Draco the kind, curly-haired witch had already told him that  _ and _ had told the horrid ginger man off, but that would have ruined any opportunity to milk the situation. Instead, he flew over to Draco, gave a sad little hoot, and was rewarded by a scratch on the head and a handful of owl treats. Placated and slightly smug, Orion flew off out the window.

Hearing the flutter of wings, Draco looked up, thinking Orion must have come back, but instead it was yet  _ another  _ delivery owl, with yet  _ another _ Howler in its beak. Draco pulled out his wand and cast an  _ Incendio  _ the moment the owl dropped it. He had started doing that after the first three Howlers had arrived. They all said the same thing, and although he was loath to admit it, the words stung.

_ Death Eater scum! _

_ Stay away from Hermione Granger! _

_ You should have ended up in Azkaban! _

_ I have half a mind to curse you, myself! _

Etc, etc, ad infinitum. It was to be expected, he supposed, given the publicity. Nevertheless, it made him wary about venturing out into the public arena again anytime soon. Disappointing, really, because he would have quite liked to have another day out with Granger.

In the foyer, the Floo roared, and a voice called out, “Oi, Malfoy! You home, mate?” Draco groaned and dropped his head into his hands. He had only  _ just _ gotten rid of Pansy, and now Blaise was here, no doubt to hound him with the same set of questions.

“In here, Blaise,” he called, not bothering to get up from his seat on the couch.

Blaise sauntered into the room, holding a copy of the  _ Prophet  _ in his hand. “Look who’s famous,” he purred. Draco rolled his eyes in response.

“Did you really have a  _ date _ with little miss know-it-all?” he asked eagerly, throwing himself down beside Draco.

“I already went over this with Pansy. It wasn’t a date,” Draco snapped irritably, ‘And she’s not a know-it-all.”

“Yes, she bloody well is,” Blaise snorted. “I was in the Ministry the other day and she was taking a bunch of trainees through the DMLE, banging on about all sorts of boring shite. History of the department and statistics and all that rot. It was just like being back at Hogwarts, listening to her voice drone on.” Draco tried not to smile at Blaise’s description. He could just imagine Granger authoritatively leading a group, speaking in her schoolteacher-ish, no-nonsense voice, firing facts like spells.

“Anyway,” Blaise continued. “Tell me all about it.”

“There’s nothing much to tell,” Draco shrugged. “I lent her a book, she took me to lunch to say thank you, we ended up at the Three Broomsticks, and then that twat tried to curse me.”

“Did Granger really kick his arse before you could even get your wand out?” 

“Yes. She was bloody quick. Wandless shield charm, then she conjured ropes without using the spell. It was so quick I almost missed it, and I was right beside her.”

“And she stuck it to all the nosey buggers who stopped to watch?”

Draco laughed. “She did. Blasted them all, told them off like they were naughty schoolchildren.”

Blaise shook his head in admiration. “Gotta say, those Gryffindorks have got some balls.”

“That they do,” Draco murmured, remembering how fierce she had been.

“So when’s the next date, hmmm?”

“It wasn’t a  _ date _ , Blaise,” he grumbled. 

“Looked like a date to me,” sang Blaise.

“Did you get a script from Pansy or something?” Draco said crossly, glaring at his friend. “Because you’re repeating almost word for word what she said to me earlier this morning.”

“Great minds think alike,” Blaise grinned, failing to directly answer the question.

“It wasn’t a date, we’re just friends,” Draco huffed. He was startled to realise that, at least, was true. He knew how he felt about her, and although he was certain she didn’t feel the same way, he was able to comfort himself with the fact that she had admitted the previous day to enjoying his company.

“Yeah, well, you’ll have to work on that then, won’t you mate?” Blaise said confidently, clapping Draco on the shoulder and standing up. “I gotta go. Keep me posted on the Granger thing.” He sauntered out in the same manner he had entered, leaving Draco shaking his head in exasperation.

~xXx~

Hermione unlocked her front door and stepped through, heading straight for the kitchen. In one hand, she held a takeaway bag and a chilled bottle of white wine in a small paper sack. Placing her shopping on the counter, she summoned a wine glass from the cupboard. Removing the cork, she filled the glass almost to the rim and took a large gulp, sighing in satisfaction as the cool liquid slid past her tongue. Glass still in hand, Hermione opened a drawer and selected a fork. She considered summoning a plate and shrugged, grabbing the takeaway container out of the bag instead. Bugger it - she was going to eat out of the bloody container, and no one was going to stop her!

It had been a very,  _ very  _ long, tiring, and infuriating day. She hadn’t gotten a lick of work done because people were showing up in her department every five minutes, wanting to grill her on the  _ Prophet  _ article. By the afternoon, Hermione was seriously considering going over to the newspaper’s head office and hexing the author of the article, the photographer who had taken the image, and the editor who had cleared the publishing of the piece.  _ That _ would give them something to write about!  _ “Golden Girl gets her revenge,”  _ was one headline she fantasised about. “ _ Interfering Media Vultures get their Comeuppance,”  _ was another. Or, perhaps, “ _ Hermione Granger: Avenging Angel.” _

“Wankers,” she muttered to herself as she flopped down on the couch. She put her wine glass down long enough to open her takeaway, turn on the telly, and flick through the channels. She settled on a  _ Black Books  _ marathon - a bit of comedy was just what she needed.

Hermione summoned the wine bottle from the kitchen, topped up her glass and began to eat, feeling herself relax as she absorbed the food, alcohol, and TV. However, something was missing. She couldn’t place her finger on exactly what it was at first. Frowning, she ticked off a mental list. Alcohol -  _ check.  _ Unhealthy, yet delicious, takeaway  _ \- check.  _ TV programming designed to zone out in front of -  _ check.  _ Someone understanding to rant about my day with -  _ unchecked. _

“Sometimes living alone sucks,” she lamented as she dug into her dinner. She  _ could _ invite one of her friends over for a bitch session, but she knew none of them would really understand, not even Ginny. The only person who would really understand and be able to empathise with her was—

Sitting up and placing the container on the table, Hermione went to stand, then stopped.  _ Am I really considering owling Malfoy and inviting him over?  _ She mused to herself. She checked her watch and sighed. At this time of night, it would be late by the time Malfoy got her message and sent a response. Resigning herself to the fact that she wouldn’t be able to get her frustration off her chest tonight, Hermione slumped back against the cushions.

Just then, her Floo chimed, and she frowned. She wasn’t expecting a call, and her friends would normally just visit her directly. Heading over to the fireplace, she accepted the call. To her surprise, Malfoy’s head appeared in the grate. 

“Granger?” he called.

“Malfoy? How did you get access to my Floo?” she asked. “It’s unlisted.”

“Well—um—I may have asked Kingsley Shaklebolt for a favour,” he admitted. “I hope you don’t mind.” Hermione may have been surprised to have Malfoy call her, but she was not surprised to discover she actually didn’t mind his asking Kingsley for access to her Floo. 

“I don’t mind,” she said, smiling. “I was just considering owling you, but thought it might be a bit late.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good, then,” Malfoy replied, sounding relieved. “I just wanted to see how your day went. Did you get bombarded with nosy questions?”

“Good Godric, did I ever,” Hermione grumbled, rolling her eyes. “I was being driven mad, I couldn’t get anything done—” she paused. “Malfoy, why don’t you just come over? I’d rather talk to a real person than a flaming head.”

“Are you sure?” he checked. 

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly. “Just give me a few minutes to adjust the wards.” Hermione picked up her wand from the coffee table and cast the necessary spells to let Malfoy past her wards. 

“Come on through,” she invited when it was complete. 

“Thank Merlin,” he sighed. Kneeling on marble floors isn’t very comfortable.”

Hermione giggled. “I suppose they aren’t.” Malfoy disconnected the call and a few minutes later he was stepping through into her living room, holding something in his hand.

“I brought wine,” he said, showing her the bottle. “It’s from the Malfoy vineyard in France. I figured you could use a drink.”

“Thank you. I’m afraid I beat you to it.” Laughing, she indicated the bottle on the table. “It’s just cheap wine. It won’t be as good as yours, but it does the trick. Would you like a glass?”

“Sure,” Malfoy nodded. He handed her his bottle, and she placed it in the fridge. Retrieving a second glass, Hermione poured for Malfoy and handed it to him. He took a sip and grimaced. “I hate to be impolite, Granger, but do you drink this often?”

“Not particularly often,” she admitted. “Truthfully, I don’t know enough about wine to tell the difference. I just stay away from anything that costs less than five pounds a bottle and call it good.”

Malfoy laughed and shook his head. “So, tell me about your horrendous day.” Sitting back down on the couch and indicating for him to join her, Hermione launched into a description of the entire affair, from when she had arrived at her department to when she had finally been able to make her escape at five-thirty.

“Honestly! By this afternoon, I wanted to go over to the  _ Prophet  _ and raise hell! It would have given them a far more exciting story. I’d even thought of headlines!”

“You did?” Malfoy asked, his eyes sparkling. “Like what? Tell me _. _ ” He threw back his head and laughed heartily as she described the titles she had thought of previously. “ _ Hermione Granger: Avenging Angel. _ Brilliant. Have you considered a career in reporting?”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? They’d never hire me, not in a million years. Not with my preference for facts and accurate, unbiased information.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Malfoy smirked. “Your attention to detail always  _ did _ border on the obsessive.”

“Hey!” she replied with mock indignance, whacking him on the arm. “That was a low blow.”

“It’s not a low blow if it’s the truth,” Malfoy argued, poking his tongue out at her in a childish fashion. Pouting, Hermione huffed and pretended to sulk, turning her attention back to the telly where  _ Black Books _ was still playing. Glancing at the coffee table, she spied her half-finished dinner and remembered she was still hungry. 

Picking it up, she turned to Malfoy and said, “I hope you don’t mind - I was partway through my dinner.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he replied, looking a bit crestfallen. “I can go and leave you in peace if you like?”

That was the last thing she wanted, and she shook her head wildly. “No, no, it’s fine — really. I’m glad of the company.”

“If you’re sure,” he said, doubtfully. Then, eyeing her food, he asked, “What is that?”

“Thai,” Hermione explained. “It’s a popular Muggle food, quite spicy, with either rice or noodles, meat, and vegetables.” At his interested expression, she added, “Would you like to try some?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose—” Malfoy began, but she could tell he was itching to taste it.

“Go on,” she urged, scooping up a forkful and holding it out to him. He eyed her for a moment, then leaned forward to take the food. Chewing thoughtfully and swallowing, he nodded, then his eyes widened in shock as the spicy flavour hit, causing Hermione to grin.

“Too hot to handle?” she teased.

Malfoy picked up his glass of wine and drained it, then sighed in relief. “How do you eat that so easily?” he asked in amazement as she continued to munch.

“You get used to it,” she shrugged. “It takes time to adapt to different flavours, particularly when they’re strong.”

“Another glass?” he offered, picking up his own. 

“Yes, please,” Hermione nodded.

“Might I suggest we do away with your swill and open the bottle I brought?” Malfoy suggested with a cheeky grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ever the snob,” she sighed. “But why not? You’re right, it is pretty terrible.”

Malfoy soon came back from the kitchen with both glasses filled. He passed her hers, sitting next to her and turning to the telly.

“That’s called a...telly, right?” he checked.

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. “Have you seen one before?”

“Only in a picture,” he said. “I— well, I went to Hogwarts and asked to use the library. I looked at some of the texts on Muggle objects.”

“You did?” she asked, impressed. “Why?”

“I thought about what you said the night of the gala, about how I would know more about Muggle things if I had taken Muggle Studies,” he explained, looking slightly hesitant. “And I decided it was time I started catching up on it all. I— I wanted to know more about your world.”

Hermione smiled, feeling strangely touched. “Good on you,” she said.

“So, what are you watching?” Malfoy asked, turning back to the screen.

“It’s called  _ Black Books, _ ” she described. “It’s a comedy series about an anti-social man named Bernard Black, who owns a bookstore, and his friends, Manny and Fran.”

“An anti-social man who runs a bookstore? Sounds right up your alley,” Malfoy snorted.

“What is that supposed to mean, Malfoy?” Hermione demanded, placing her wine glass down on the table and turning to face the smirking blond.

“Okay, well, you’re not a  _ man, _ ” Malfoy conceded, “But you always were rather anti-social at school, and you’re mad about books, so—”

Hermione was about to fire a rebuttal, something along the lines of his own anti-social behaviour as a student and where he could insert his opinion when her Floo roared.

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice called through the flames.

“Bollocks,” Hermione cursed, as the dark-haired man stepped into her living room, brushing the soot from his robes.

“Hermione, I heard you were hounded all day at the Ministry. I’m sorry I didn’t come and check on you, but—” Harry suddenly froze as he took in the sight of Malfoy sitting beside Hermione on the couch. In an instant, he had his wand out and was pointing it at his former rival.

“Get away from her,” he bit out furiously.

“ _ Harry! _ ” Hermione shouted, leaping to her feet and drawing her own wand. “Put. That. Away.  _ Now. _ ”

“But—”

“ _ Oppugno!” _

“Call them off, Hermione,  _ call them off! _ ” Harry cried out, dropping his wand. He covered his head with his hands as the flock of canaries that issued from her wand flew at him, clawing, pecking and chirping madly. 

Hermione simply stood there, her arms folded. “No, I don’t think I will, Harry.”

“They’re pecking my face! I’m sorry! Call them off, Hermione, for Merlin’s sake!  _ Please! _ ”

“I think he’s suffered enough, Granger,” Malfoy murmured beside her. Hermione glanced at him and saw he was trying to suppress a smirk. “Your spellwork is as impeccable as always, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she replied primly, and with a wave her wand she had banished the birds, leaving no trace of their existence except for a few feathers floating gently in the air and settling in Harry’s hair and robes. Her friend gingerly lifted his head and looked around to be sure the birds were gone.

Harry,” Hermione said in a tone that booked no disagreement, “I think you owe Malfoy an apology.”

Harry pouted and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Why should I have to—!” She lifted her wand again threateningly, and Harry glared at Malfoy as if this was somehow  _ his _ fault.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy,” he grudgingly said to his shoes.

“Thank you, Potter. Apology accepted,” Malfoy answered magnanimously.

“What brings you here, Harry? Apart from attempting to defend me against scary Slytherins, that is?” Hermione sniped.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he replied, looking up at her once again. “I know I should have come and visited during the day, but I got busy. Anyway, with all the gossip going on, I figured you must have gotten sick of nosy people showing up and asking about  _ him. _ ” He nodded sullenly towards Malfoy, still clearly put out at his presence in Hermione’s home.

“I’d better be going, Granger,” Malfoy sighed, and Hermione felt a pang of disappointment. “Thank you for inviting me over.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you for cheering me up, and thank you for the wine.”

“Don’t mention it.” He smiled at her and made his way across the room, nodding curtly to Harry. Picking up a handful of Floo powder, he called out, “ _ Malfoy Manor!” _ and was gone. 

Harry looked at the empty fireplace, then turned to Hermione incredulously. “ _ Malfoy _ was cheering you up?  _ Malfoy? _ ”

_ “Yes,  _ Malfoy. He Floo called me to ask if I was—”

“He  _ Floo called _ you?” Harry interrupted. “How in Godric’s name did he get access? Your fireplace is unlisted!”

Hermione considered saying nothing, then sighed. “If you  _ must _ know, he asked Kingsley for a favour.”

“And he just gave him your details?” Harry’s eyes bulged out of his head in shock. With his glasses magnifying the expression, it looked quite comical.

“Yes, Harry, he did.”

“Well, I’m going to give him a piece of my—”

“ _ No,  _ Harry, you bloody well  _ won’t! _ ” Hermione shouted, causing Harry to shut his mouth with a snap. “I’m not bothered by Malfoy calling me at all. If I was, I would have said as much when he did and I certainly wouldn’t have invited him over.”

Harry looked utterly perplexed at the concept. “But—but he  _ hates _ Muggle-borns.”

Hermione groaned and dropped her face into her hands. “No, he  _ doesn’t,  _ Harry! Why are you so determined to demonise him?”

“Because it’s  _ Malfoy! _ ”

“Get over your prejudices, Harry! He has, why can’t you?”

“You expect me to believe he doesn’t think like a pureblood prat any more?” Harry scoffed, folding his arms and glaring at her.

“I’d  _ like _ you to, but clearly,  _ expecting _ you to grow up and get past your differences is too much,” Hermione snapped.

“He’s  _ using _ you, Hermione! He just wants to make himself look less of an arse!”

“And you know this, how?” Hermione challenged, her hands on her hips.

“Well—” Harry wouldn’t meet her eyes. “It would be just like him, wouldn’t it?”

Hermione shook her head. “There’s no getting through to you, Harry. Just leave, please.”

“Whatever,” Harry growled. “Don’t come crying to me when it all goes tits up.”

“Why would I, when you’re such a shitty friend?” she bit back.

Without another word, Harry spun on his heel, grabbed the Floo powder and called out, “ _ Grimmauld Place!” _

As he disappeared into the flames, Hermione felt angry tears coursing down her face. She shuffled morosely back to the couch, picked up her wine glass, and swigged back the golden liquid inside.  _ Bloody Harry, that arse,  _ she thought.  _ He just had to go and ruin everything. _ Her Floo roared again and she looked up to see a piece of parchment, charmed to look like a bird, exit the flames and fly over to her.

_ I hope Potter wasn’t too much of a twat to you after I left, although knowing him he probably didn’t take my being in your living room very well at all. _

_ Meet me on the weekend? I have a surprise. I’ll owl you tomorrow. _

_ D.M. _

Hermione smiled at the note, feeling slightly better. As a twinge of anticipation hit, she realised she was very much looking forward to seeing him again.

~xXx~

The rest of the week was uneventful. The gossip and questions had died down by midweek, and by Friday, the article about Hermione and Malfoy had all but been forgotten by most of Wizarding London. Harry still wasn’t speaking to her, and neither was Ron. Frankly, she didn’t really care - she had had quite enough of their meddling, thank you very much.

Hermione stepped out of her Floo and into her living room with a sigh of relief. She was very much looking forward to relaxing at home - and, of course, finding out what the surprise was Malfoy had planned. Hearing a tap, she turned to the window to see Orion waiting for her, a letter in his beak. Smiling, she made her way across the room to let him in. He entered, perched on the arm of the couch and dropped the letter, looking around expectantly.

“I suppose you’re looking for food?” Hermione asked, amused. Orion gave an impatient hoot in reply. Smiling, she summoned the owl treats and fed him a small handful. He gobbled them down and looked at her hopefully.

“Is Malfoy not feeding you, or something?” she wondered aloud. Orion hooted and twisted his head as if to say,  _ no, he is not _ .

“I find that hard to believe,” Hermione replied sceptically as she picked up the letter and opened it. “He seems rather attached to you. I’m sure he wouldn’t neglect you like that.” Orion looked at her indignantly, snapping his beak and ruffling his feathers, making her laugh. “Fine, you can have a few more,” she said, “but only a few.” She fed him another small handful then turned to the letter in her hand.

_ Granger, _

_ I hope you’re still up for our plans this weekend. I’ll collect you at nine via your Floo, if that’s okay. Bring warm clothing, including a hat, scarf, and gloves. Orion will wait for your reply. _

_ Malfoy _

_ P.S don’t let him try and convince you he’s hungry - he’s already had his dinner. _

Hermione looked over at him and frowned. “Orion,” she said sternly. “Malfoy says you’ve already had your dinner.” The owl had the decency to look abashed at being caught out. She wrote a quick reply confirming the arrangement and handed it to Orion, giving him a pat. “You really are the limit,” she said fondly. He clicked his beak softly in response, took the note, and flew into the night.

The next morning, her Floo chimed precisely at nine am, and Malfoy stepped through. He looked about the room, spied her waiting, and smiled. “Good morning, Granger,” he greeted her. “Are you ready?”

“Good morning, Malfoy.” Hermione picked up her coat and winter wear. “I am. Where are we going?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Malfoy replied, winking conspiratorially. 

“ _ Tell _ me!”

“No. You’ll just have to wait and find out.”

Hermione folded her arms and pretended to pout. “Prat.”

“You know it,” he grinned. “Can we Apparate from inside your flat?”

“We can if I adjust the wards once more,” she replied. “Give me a moment.” Pulling out her wand, she made a series of quick, sure, movements and tucked it away again. Malfoy then offered his arm. Hermione took it and was swept away.

When they landed, Hermione realised they were in Hogsmeade. “What are we doing here?” she asked curiously. 

“Oh, we’re not spending time  _ here, _ ” Malfoy replied. “We’re heading up to the castle.”

“To  _ Hogwarts? _ But why?”

“You’ll see,” Malfoy sang, looking very pleased with himself. Grabbing her hand, he led her up the path to the castle, leaving Hermione feeling equal parts curious and irritated.

Draco had surprised himself by taking Granger’s hand. He hadn’t  _ intended  _ to do it; it had just happened. He was relieved to find she didn’t seem bothered by the action. As he led her towards the castle, he reached into his pocket to make sure his surprise was still there. They walked companionably along the familiar stretch of road until they arrived at the gates. Pulling out his wand, Draco sent up a shower of rainbow sparks. After a few minutes, a figure could be seen walking briskly towards them.

“Is that—?” Hermione said excitedly, squinting as the person advanced. “It is! Headmistress McGonagall!”

“Good morning, Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger,” the older witch replied with a slight smile and a regal nod of her head. “Minerva will be just fine. Come along, I have tea waiting.” She turned without another word, waving her hand. The wards shimmered before them, allowing their admittance onto the grounds, and they followed McGonagall up to the castle. 

Draco felt a strong sense of nostalgia as he walked the halls of the place that had been his second home for seven years, and a glance at Granger told him she felt the same. Eventually, they reached the Gargoyle concealing her office. She muttered the password, which was  _ “Colcannon” _ , and it sprung aside to allow the small group access to the moving staircase. Once inside her office, McGonagall waved her wand and a tea set floated over to the small table by the fire, arranging itself along with a plate of biscuits. 

Once they were all seated with teacups in their hands, McGonagall turned to Draco and asked with a knowing smile, “So, have you told her?”

“Not yet,” Draco chuckled.

“Told me  _ what?”  _ Granger looked first at him, then and McGonagall. “Don’t tell me you know why I’m here and I don’t!” Draco couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty at her betrayed expression.

“I had to explain the reason I wanted to bring you here to get Minerva’s permission,” Draco explained with a small smile. “It was unavoidable.”

“I confess, Mr Malfoy, that I remain unconvinced,” McGonagall said with a raised eyebrow. “You may have been one of the best, but Miss Granger was never fond of this activity.”

“ _ What _ activity?” Granger replied, raising her voice in alarm. 

“Let me show you,” Draco said, hurriedly putting down his teacup. He felt it would be best to get things started now before she spooked completely and fled the grounds. 

She hesitated, and to his mild surprise, McGonagall added, “Come now, Miss Granger. Where’s your Gryffindor courage? You were always one of my best and bravest students. You can do this!”

The remark was enough to her Granger on her feet, smoothing down her jeans. “All right,” she said with trepidation. “Let’s do… whatever it is you’re planning to do.”

With a grin, Draco led her out of McGonagall’s office and out of the castle, until they were on the Quidditch pitch. He turned to her to view her reaction, feeling quietly anxious and hoping he hadn’t completely cocked things up.

“Why are we on the Quidditch pitch?” she squeaked. Wordlessly, Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out the shrunken broom he had secreted there. He cast the  _ Engorgio  _ charm to return it to its proper size.

“No,” Granger said, shaking her head and backing away from him. “No, no, no. No way. Nuh-uh.”

“Yes, way,” Draco said softly. “Granger, let me try and teach you. You can  _ do _ this.”

“I can’t! I’ve told you this! I’m  _ horrid _ at flying!” Her arms were folded and her expression was mutinous. “You  _ tricked _ me!”

“I didn’t trick you,” Draco replied, still talking in a quiet, soothing voice. “But I can tell it frustrates you to not be good at something. I know you can beat this. Please let me teach you.”

Granger laughed cynically. “Ron and Harry are top fliers. If they can’t teach me, what makes you so sure you can?”

“Were they impatient with you? Did they expect you to pick it up right away?” Draco asked. She didn’t answer, looking at her feet instead, but her expression gave him the answer. “Teaching someone something takes time, patience, and skill, Granger, something you know well. Not everyone is good at it. Potter and Weasley may be good fliers, but it doesn’t necessarily make them good teachers.” Granger nodded, and sensing he was getting through to her, he continued, “What worries you most about being on a broom?”

“The loss of control, the height, the risk of falling.. everything!” Granger cried, her pent-up frustration finally coming to the surface as she gripped her elbows anxiously.

“Okay, we can work with that,” Draco nodded. “Why don’t you ride with me to start, and I’ll help you with your positioning and directing the broom’s movements.”

“O—okay.” Granger replied nervously.

Swinging his leg over the broom, Draco held his hand out to her. “Swing your leg over and grip the handle.” She did as instructed, taking the handle in a death grip. Draco noticed she was trembling slightly. Leaning his body around her, he gently pried her fingers loose, repositioning her hands further forward. He folded them loosely around the wood and placed his own over hers. “A firm grip, but relaxed,” he instructed. “Like a giant wand that needs two hands to hold.”

Granger nodded. “Right.”

“Lean your body forward slightly, keeping your arms straight.”

“Lean forward, arms straight,” she muttered as she followed through.

“Now, use your dominant foot to push yourself up.”

He felt the movement as Granger pushed them off the ground, and the broom lifted slightly. She gasped, and he squeezed her gently with his arms. “You’re doing fine,” he quietly reassured her. “Let’s just keep hovering like this until you’re ready to move forward.”

“Okay,” she whispered, taking a deep breath. After a few minutes, she spoke again. “What do I do next?”

“Tilt the broom down about an inch to come back down to the ground, then push off again. This time, move forward and lean into the broom.” Granger slowly lowered them until they were on the ground again, took another deep breath, then firmly urged them forward, leaning forward until she was almost flat against the handle.

“Sit up ever so slightly,” Draco advised. “You want to position yourself about halfway between sitting up and lying flat.” Nodding, she repositioned herself as the broom continued its gentle forward motion.

“To turn, lean your body in the direction you wish to go,” he said. “Just slightly, so you can maintain your balance.”

Granger leaned to the left and the broom moved in that direction. “I’m turning!” she remarked in surprise.

“You’re doing great,” Draco murmured in her ear. “If you’d like to go higher, tilt the broom handle up. Whenever you’re ready.”

After a few minutes of slowly going around, turning left and right, Draco felt her pull the broom handle towards her, and they began to rise into the air. They were several metres up when she seemed to realise how high she was, and her breath hitched in fright.

“It’s okay. Level the broom out and we’ll stop rising. Point it towards the ground again and we’ll descend.” Doing as instructed, Granger adjusted the position of the broom until they were hovering once again, and leaned forward slightly to urge it forward once more.

“You’re flying, Granger,” he murmured in her ear.

“I’m flying,” she echoed with wonder.

“Lean closer to the handle to go faster.”

“Faster?” she croaked.

“You can do this.”

Wordlessly Granger nodded and tilted the broom down, then leaned forward, and the broom picked up speed. “Oh no!” she cried in panic.

“Level out, sit up, and you’ll slow down,” he reminded her kindly.

“No, I’m okay,” she replied, sounding determined. Over the next half hour, Granger gradually built up her confidence until she was able to fly at a half-speed, go up, down, and turn in a wide spiral.

“I’m flying! I can actually fly a broom!” she laughed joyously, and Draco’s heart soared at the sound.

“We should take a break,” Draco urged, smiling. “Flying is hard work at first.”

“Aww,” Granger grumbled.

“Come on, take us down. You can’t feel it now but you’re going to have sore muscles later.” With a sigh, Granger lowered them down to the ground. Draco jumped off first then held the handle with one hand, extending the other to help her dismount.

“Ough, I’m all stiff!” she complained in surprise, stretching her arms and bending her knees several times before twisting her upper body from side to side.

“Told you,” Draco laughed. “You did exceptionally well during your first lesson.”

“I did?” she asked, looking at him hopefully.

“You did,” he smiled. “I give you an O for Outstanding.” She positively beamed at him, and Draco realised he was halfway in love with the witch already. Maybe more.

“You’re a wonderful teacher,” she said happily. “Thank you for challenging me to try.”

“And you’re an excellent student. Will you come flying with me again?” he asked. “Maybe we could try you flying solo?”

Granger thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, let’s try that.”

“Excellent,” Draco grinned, shrinking the broom and putting it back in his pocket. “Now what say we head in and get something to eat? Minerva invited us to join her for lunch after you had your flying lesson.”

“Great, I’m starved!” she exclaimed.

As they headed towards the castle, Granger was still unsteady from her time on the broom and stumbled in the grass. Draco reached out to catch her and she fell against his chest. She stared up into his face, her deep brown eyes meeting his and her mouth dropping open into a small  _ o _ in shock. Moments later, her arms came around his neck and she was kissing him. The shock rendered him motionless, but only for a moment. As he wound his arms around her small waist and kissed her back, Draco felt he would explode with happiness. Something amazing was happening between them, and he was determined he would not lose the witch who had been his former rival. As long as she was by his side, nothing else mattered.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione settled back in her bath, sighing with relief. As predicted, her body was suffering now from her exertions during the broom lesson, and she had made the water as hot as she could stand to soothe her aching muscles. Everything hurt - but still, it had been worth it. Letting her body sink down until only her head was above water, Hermione smiled happily. She still couldn’t believe she had actually  _ kissed _ Malfoy— well, Draco, she supposed. She had stumbled, he had caught her, their eyes had locked, and that had been it. Before she even knew she was doing it, she had thrown her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. She was surprised at herself - she was rarely so impulsive. And yet it had felt right.  _ natural _ , even.

He was quite a good kisser, Hermione reflected. Not like Ron, who had been sloppy and rushed and used too much tongue. Draco, on the other hand, licked and nipped and teased. His kisses were soft yet confident, assertive without being dominating, and controlled but passionate. The feeling had been quite dizzying, and she was shocked to admit to herself how much she had wanted to get closer to him. Hermione closed her eyes and allowed herself to bask in the rest of the day they had shared. They had enjoyed a fine lunch with Minerva, though much to Hermione’s embarrassment, the headmistress had been watching from her office window and had seen everything, including the kiss. After lunch, Draco escorted her back to Hogsmeade where they Apparated to London. There, he apologised profusely and departed, having an engagement with his mother to keep, but promised to owl her during the week. He kissed her once more, and Hermione practically floated home.

With a start, Hermione realised the water was almost cold and she was going all wrinkly. With some regret, she climbed out of the bath, wrapping a towel around herself, and made her way to the bedroom to get into her pyjamas. She just didn’t have the energy to cook, so she rang for a pizza.

After her pizza arrived, she settled down in front of the telly to watch the weekend film - it was  _ Pulp Fiction.  _ Hermione had watched it once before with her parents and enjoyed it. She wondered idly if Draco would like it. Her Floo chimed and she looked up in surprise to see both Ron and Harry stepping into her living room.

“Hi, ‘Mione,” Ron greeted, ducking his head as if expecting a blow.

“Ron, Harry,” she said, frowning. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, we haven’t seen or spoken to you in a while and we thought we’d check in on you,” Harry explained.

“Did you just?” Hermione was still annoyed with Harry, as he hadn’t spoken to her since their argument earlier in the week.  _ I bet he’s just going to carry on as if nothing happened, _ she thought in irritation.  _ Typical Harry - and typical Ron, too. _

“Er, yes,” Harry replied awkwardly. “Plus, Ginny told me she’d hex me if I didn’t come over and see you.”

“Figures,” she snorted. “Whatever. Sit down if you want—” she indicated the couch and accompanying armchair, “—but don’t interrupt the film.” Ron sat beside her on the couch, giving her his trademark lopsided grin. He spotted the remains of her pizza and eyed it with interest while trying and failing to pretend he hadn’t seen it at all. “Oh, go on, Ronald,” Hermione grumbled with irritation, indicating the box.

“Grand! Thanks, ‘Mione!” Ron snatched up a slice and began munching enthusiastically. “This pizza stuff is bloody brilliant!” he added, with his mouth full. Hermione shuddered slightly and glanced at Harry, who was hovering near the entrance to her kitchen.

“Um— shall I make us all a pot of tea?” he suggested.

“Yes, that would be nice, thank you, Harry,” Hermione nodded, thinking that even if Harry was a complete and utter twat, he at least had the decency to offer to make the tea so she wouldn’t have to get up and do it. She heard him busying himself in the kitchen and got lost once again in the film.

“Here we go,” Harry smiled, carrying a tray with three cups of tea, a small milk jug, and the sugar bowl. He and Ron quickly grabbed a cup each and went about adding milk and sugar to their taste. Hermione left hers where it was for several minutes, engrossed in the film, before picking up her cup and adding sugar and milk. She took a few sips and thought it tasted off. Lifting the milk jug to her nose, she sniffed it. It didn’t  _ smell _ like it had turned, but there was no other explanation.

“Does the milk seem slightly over?” she asked her friends with a frown.

“Um, yeah. It does, a bit.” Harry said, looking into his cup. “But it’s not too bad.”

“Seems fine to me,” Ron shrugged, draining his cup.

“Of course it would seem fine to you, Ron,” Hermione said fondly. “I swear your tastebuds barely function, sometimes.” They sat in silence for some time, watching the film, until Hermione began to yawn. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” she said, standing. “I’m knackered.”

“Okay, we’ll take off,” Harry replied, standing. “I’ll clean up the tea things if you like.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione smiled at him gratefully.

The boys tidied up and bid her goodnight, stepping through her Floo, and Hermione headed to bed. She was so  _ tired _ all of a sudden - but after the exercise she’d had, plus the bath, junk food, and hot tea, it was hardly surprising. She climbed into bed, sighing in contentment as she snuggled under the covers, and was deeply asleep in moments.

~xXx~

  
Hermione awoke to the indistinct hum of voices.  _ What the hell? _ She thought groggily, her eyes still glued shut with sleep. Attempting to roll over, Hermione was alarmed to find it was difficult to get her body to move and her head felt fuzzy. 

_ “You gave her too much!”  _ hissed a familiar voice.  _ “What if she doesn’t wake up? She’s been out for more than a day!” _

_ “She  _ will _ wake up!”  _ answered a second, although Hermione detected a hint of uncertainty.  _ “I had to make sure we could get her here without disturbing her!” _

Willing herself to gather her wits, Hermione opened her eyes and concentrated on trying to find something in the room to focus on. She was in a bed, that was certain, although she suspected it wasn’t  _ her _ bed - in fact, she very much suspected she wasn’t even in her  _ flat _ . Looking around, she spied a small blue and white figurine sitting on a bedside cabinet and put all her effort into analysing the detail. It made her already cotton-filled head hurt, but it also helped her to gradually pinpoint her surroundings.

She was in a small room and the light was bright, streaming through a crack in the curtains, so she guessed it must be mid-morning at least. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished, with only a small wardrobe standing in the corner adding to the bed and cabinet. Hearing footsteps coming towards the closed door, Hermione grabbed for her wand before realising that whoever had brought her here would certainly have taken it. At any rate, even if they hadn’t, it wasn’t within her reach, and she was still too disoriented to try and search for or summon it. 

“Fuck,” she whispered, her heart beating a staccato in her chest. She looked at the door with trepidation as the handle turned and it swung inwards. Her fear turned to outrage as she saw who was standing in the doorway. 

“ _ You two! _ ” she snarled. “What the bloody hell are you up to?” Hermione struggled into a sitting position, glaring at a guilty-looking Harry and Ron. When neither spoke, she folded her arms and switched her gaze to Ron, who was more likely to crack than Harry. “ _ Well, _ Ronald? Explain yourselves! Is this some sort of prank? And get me some water, please. I’m absolutely parched.”

“Harry, go get her some water,” Ron hissed, and Harry nodded, turning and disappearing into the rest of the house.

Infuriated by Ron’s silence, Hermione decided to take matters into her own hands.  _ “Accio  _ wand!” Nothing happened. “Give me my wand, Ronald,” she hissed. The redheaded man said nothing, just shook his head. At that point, Harry returned with a glass of water and handed it to her, quickly stepping back out of reach.  _ Damn his Seeker reflexes, _ she cursed. Finishing the water, Hermione placed the glass on the bedside cabinet and eyed her two friends - if they could really be called that - speculatively.

Suddenly, she waved her hand, silently casting a wandless repelling charm. To her horror, Harry and Ron remained where they were. It was at that point Hermione realised something was wrong with her magic. It felt  _ restrained. _

“What have you two done to me?” she said lowly, struggling to get out of bed.

“It’s—it’s for your good, Hermione,” Ron said after a moment, eyeing her carefully.

“What do you mean it’s for my good? Am I a prisoner here?  _ Why? _ What in the fuck are you doing?” Her voice got higher and higher in her confusion, anger and hurt. She couldn’t understand why her friends would treat her like this.

“You were seen in Hogsmeade with Malfoy,” Ron continued. “We’re worried about you. He was at your flat the other night and—”

“Who I spend time with is none of your bloody business!” Hermione shouted, climbing out of bed. Her legs were still unsteady, and she staggered.

“When it’s Death Eater scum who avoided Azkaban, it is!” Ron shouted back, his face going red.

“Okay, enough!” Harry interrupted, stepping forward. “Look, Hermione. We just want to give you time to get your head straight. He’s trouble and it wouldn’t be good for you to keep seeing him.”

“Arrgh!” Hermione threw her hands up in frustration, the only avenue left to her with her magic bound. “How many times do I have to tell you two that I can make my own decisions?”

“Just get your head straight for a few days out here, without any distractions,” Harry continued, pleadingly.

“Where exactly  _ is _ here? And, speaking of that, how did you get me here in the first place?” Hermione stopped, remembering what happened before waking up here. 

_ Shall I make us all a pot of tea? _

_ Does the milk taste slightly over? _

_ Um, yeah. It does a bit. _

“You— you  _ drugged _ me!” Hermione shouted, enraged. “How  _ dare _ you! I’m going to strangle you both with my bare hands!” She started towards them, sure she was about to commit a double murder, and not really giving a shite at this point. Looks of fear crossed Ron and Harry’s faces, and they ducked through the door, slamming it shut. She threw herself against it as she heard a key turn, and pulled furiously on the handle. It wouldn’t budge.

“Tell me where I am! Let me out!” she screamed. “Let me out  _ right now! _ ”

“I can’t do that,” Harry’s regretful voice floated back to her from the other side of the door. “All I’ll tell you is that it’s a Ministry safe house on a small island. It has a Fidelius charm and suppresses magic so the occupants can’t be traced by their magical signature. You can’t Apparate in or out, and there’s no Floo, so the only way in or out is by boat.”

“How the hell did you get me here if you can only get in and out by boat?”

“I can’t tell you that either.”

“Does the DMLE know what you’re using this safe house for?”

Silence.

“They don’t, do they?”

More silence.

“You and Ron could lose your jobs for this, Harry.”

Footsteps walked quickly away from her door, and she was left alone.

~xXx~

  
Hermione paced back and forth in her prison like a caged lioness. She hadn’t heard a sound in what felt like hours, and she suspected Harry and Ron had left the property. She had already tried the small window, but it wouldn’t budge. Despite turning the room upside down, she couldn’t find anything that she might use to prise it open.

“Fuck!” she screamed, picking up the small bedside cabinet and throwing it. The cabinet hit the wall and a chunk of wood split off, the small drawer flying open and hanging ajar like a tongue protruding from a mouth. Looking over at the mess, she spotted something small and shiny that had been dislodged. Hurrying over to the spot, she bent to pick it up and gasped. It was a hairpin!  _ I could pick the lock, or dislodge the key, or something! _ She thought to herself. 

Walking quickly over to the door, she looked through the old-fashioned keyhole. Sure enough, it was sitting in the lock. Next, she examined the gap under the door. It was small, but she thought it might be wide enough to slide the key over to her if she could get it out.

“Paper, paper, I need some paper, or cardboard, or something!” she muttered.

Another turn of the room revealed nothing that could be of use, and Hermione swore again, resuming her pacing, the hairpin clutched in her hand. She glanced over at the overturned cabinet again and noticed she had made a dent in the wall. A piece of the wallpaper was torn and sticking up slightly. Hermione approached it and began picking at the piece that had lifted. Little bits of paper flaked off and she growled in frustration. Finally, after some time, she had managed to peel a length of wallpaper big enough so that she would be able to slide it most of the way under the door, and still have enough to tug it back toward her - if she managed to get the key to land on it, that was.

Just then she heard noises outside. “Arse!” she grumbled. Quickly, Hermione hid the scrap of wallpaper under the mattress and shoved the hairpin into her hair, then sat the cabinet upright against the wall, attempting to hide the damaged wallpaper. The key rattled in the lock, and she scuttled to the door as it began to open, hoping to grab hold of it and force her way through.

“We brought you some food, ‘Mione,” said Ron, sliding a tray with sandwiches and a bottle of fizzy drink through the gap and quickly pulling it shut again before she could get a good grip on it. 

“Fucking let me out!” she roared, slamming her fist into the wood panelling.

“We’ll talk later,” he said through the door. “When you’ve regained your senses.”

“I never lost them in the first place!” she paused. “At least let me use the loo, I’m bursting.”

“There’s a chamber pot under the bed.”

_ “What?  _ You’re going to make me piss in a fucking  _ chamber pot? _ ” 

Silence.

“Wankers,” she growled, looking under the bed. “I am going to  _ destroy _ them.” She found the chamber pot and eyed it with distaste before resigning herself to the fact she didn’t have any other choice unless she wanted to go in the corner like an animal. Pulling down her pyjama bottoms, she quickly used the pot, sighing with relief as the pressure on her bladder lessened. Wrinkling her nose at the smell, she carefully slid it back under the bed and went to examine the tray. 

As hungry and thirsty as she was, she didn’t trust anything her traitorous friends offered. Still, she supposed, she didn’t know how long she would be here, and she needed to keep her strength up. Reaching for the sandwiches, she gobbled them down, then skolled back the lemonade. Now that she had eaten, she didn't know what else to do but wait. She laid back on the bed, her eyes drooping, and minutes later she was asleep.

~xXx~

When she woke again it was dark. “Damn them. So it  _ was  _ drugged,” she muttered. She lay still for a while, waiting for her head to clear and listening for any indication that Ron and Harry were awake. The house was silent and still. When she felt more alert, Hermione sat up and looked around. The tray was gone. She sniffed the air, then looked under the bed. Grasping the chamber pot, she pulled it out, noting it had been emptied.

“Cowards. Slipping me sleeping draughts - and Merlin knows what else - so they can run in and out while I'm unconscious like the rats they are.” Getting up, she went to the door and listened. She thought she could hear faint snoring and frowned. Should she risk it? She would only have one chance - if she made too much noise and they heard her, or if she couldn’t get the key out, or if it didn’t land on the paper-

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione was determined to try anyway. There was no use delaying. She would just end up getting more anxious about making an attempt to escape and be more likely to make a mistake. Reaching under the mattress, she fumbled for the scrap of wallpaper, and her heart stuttered in her chest when she couldn’t find it. Lifting the corner higher, she took a calming breath in, then out before looking underneath. It was there, further back than she remembered, slightly crumpled but intact. She retrieved it and fumbled in her hair for the hairpin, then carefully walked over to the door again. Flattening out the wallpaper, she slid it almost entirely under the door below the lock. Suddenly a worrying thought occurred to her -  _ what if they had taken the key, this time? _ She pressed her eye to the keyhole but it was too dark to be sure if it was there. She would just have to try anyway and hope.

Holding the hairpin tightly, Hermione stuck it carefully into the keyhole and felt resistance.  _ Yes! _ The key was there! She began to carefully push and wiggle. The key wouldn’t budge. Resisting the urge to shove the hairpin through forcefully, which would almost certainly cause the key to shoot out of the lock and beyond the paper, she settled for gently tapping the end with one finger while holding it steady with her other hand. Holding her breath, Hermione increased the tapping rhythm as she felt it finally starting to move. Slowly, the hairpin slid further into the lock and the key came loose, landing on the floor with a small clatter. 

“Right. Nearly there,” she whispered to herself. Quickly, Hermione dropped to her stomach and grasped the end of the wallpaper scrap with her fingertips, edging it towards her. She could feel the weight of the key on it. Now, the paper was nearly all the way through, and here was the key, sitting on the edge! The realisation of the near-miss made her glad she had persisted with her deliberate and careful movements.  _ Slow and steady wins the race, _ she thought to herself in satisfaction.

Hermione grabbed the key and inserted it in the lock, turning it slowly. It unlatched with a small  _ click, _ and she waited, listening for any sounds within the house that might indicate someone had heard her. When she was certain no one had, she pulled the door open and stepped into a small hallway. The snores were louder now. She carefully followed them, hoping the floor wouldn’t creak, and peeked her head into a room. There was Ron, lying on a couch, fast asleep with his wand clutched tightly in his hand. Harry was nowhere to be seen. Pulling her head back, Hermione began to explore the rest of the house. She found a second bedroom, a bathroom, and a tiny kitchen with a door leading outside. Trying this door, she found it unlocked and stepped out into the darkness. 

She quickly explored the immediate area, wincing as she walked over small stones in her bare feet. It was cold out, and she didn’t have anything to throw over her pyjamas. The house was surrounded by trees, with a path leading through a gap in the greenery. She followed it and came to a cliff. It had a small platform and steps leading down, and from here she could hear the crash of waves against the sides.

“The boat!” Hermione exclaimed and hurried down the steps. When she reached the bottom, she cursed once again. There was no boat. Maybe Harry had left Ron to keep an eye on her and gone away to get supplies or something. Despondent, she made her way slowly back up the steps and towards the house. 

As she approached the building, Hermione noticed what appeared to be a small shed half-hidden behind the house. Maybe there would be something in there she could use to whack the red-headed bastard over the head and then the four-eyed bastard when he returned from wherever he was. Examining the door, she noted it looked weathered and worn, the wood swollen from exposure to the sea air. Hermione gave it an experimental push, and It swung open a few centimetres, getting stuck on the dirt floor. Leaning into the wood, she shoved, and it scraped forward a few more centimetres with a groan. She stepped through.

The interior of the shed was pitch black, and what little light the moon gave was partially obscured by the house. Waiting a few moments for her eyes to adjust, Hermione glanced around. The dull shapes in the inky darkness were unrecognisable. She would have to feel her way around, and hope to Godric she didn’t stand on or touch anything sharp.

Carefully, Hermione reached out in front of her, shuffling her feet forward a little at a time, until she reached a wall. Feeling along it, she identified and quickly dismissed what felt like a few jars and tins, scraps of wood, and small tools. Soon she was almost all the way around the shed and hadn’t found anything useful. She was losing hope when, while fumbling in the corner, her hand struck something long and thin. and. Hermione shoved a fist in her mouth to stifle the yelp of shock that threatened to escape as it clattered against her body, then grabbed at whatever it was. It was smooth and long, with grooves and dips along its surface. Could it be? Grasping it tightly, Hermione eased herself around the door, carrying the object out of the shed so she could examine it in the moonlight. She hissed in triumph. 

It was a broom! But would it fly? Swinging a leg over, she pushed forward with her foot. The broom wobbled but moved. She lifted the handle and it rose, then she pointed it down and it descended. Her feet touched the ground again and Hermione dismounted, suddenly unsure. She could hover a few feet in the air, but she only had one flying lesson. She couldn’t fly solo!  _ Or could she? _

Hermione walked to the edge of the cliff, looking anxiously over the edge. It was a long way down. If she slipped or the broom malfunctioned, she would be killed by the fall or by drowning. She turned towards the house, ready to give up, then stopped. No! She was a Gryffindor, dammit! Minerva’s voice came back to her.  _ Where’s your Gryffindor courage? _

Now determined, Hermione swung her leg over the broom once more. Pushing off more firmly, she gradually rose higher over the ground, circling slowly and building her nerve. She stopped, hovering, and looked out at the expanse before her. Far below, the sea glittered in the moonlight. Which way should she go? Turning in a slow circle, Hermione examined the horizon, trying to spot lights or anything else that would indicate habitation. She gasped when she spotted what seemed to be a faint glow in one direction. 

“Remember what Malfoy told you,” she told herself. “Lean forward to go faster, sit up to slow down, firm grip like holding a giant wand. You can do this.” Taking a deep breath, she turned herself to face the shining light, adjusted her grip and position, then shot out past the cliff edge and over the water.

~xXx~

  
Draco was panicking. Hermione had disappeared, and he had no idea where she might have gone. He had sent her an owl the day after their flying-lesson-cum-unofficial-date, but Orion had returned several hours later with the letter still in his beak.

“See if you can find her at the Ministry, then try Potter’s house, or maybe Weasley’s,” he had instructed, and the owl had flown off once more. Once more, however, he had returned with the letter undelivered. Draco waited for a day then sent Orion out again, still with no response.

“I’m worried,” he confessed to Narcissa. “I haven’t heard from her. I’m sure she isn’t cross with me.”

“Perhaps you should Floo over and check on her,” she suggested.

Draco nodded. “Yes, good idea.”

He went immediately. “Granger?” He called out as he stepped through her fireplace. “Hermione? Are you alright?” The flat was quiet and empty, and Draco’s unease deepened. Exploring the house, he found abandoned teacups and an empty pizza box in the kitchen which he found odd. From what he knew of her, Granger was very neat and unlikely to leave things sitting out like this.

Examining the remains, he noted that the tea things looked to have been there for at least a day. He picked up the cups and smelled them. Two had only the odour of ordinary tea, but the third had a sharper scent. It smelled like… a sleeping draught? A strong one, at that, a medical-grade one that was designed to put the person under for at least 24 hours. Taking the cup with him, Draco turned on his heel and hurried back through the Floo.

~xXx~

“Something’s happened, Shacklebolt! There are the remains of a strong sleeping draught in this cup and no one has heard from her in two days! Where are Weasel and Potty?” In his distress, Draco couldn't be arsed referring to the idiotic duo politely.

_ “ _ That’s  _ Minister  _ Shacklebolt to you, and  _ Potter and Weasley _ are following a lead,” Kingsley frowned impatiently. “I share your concerns about Miss Granger, however. I’ll make inquiries and send people out to look for her.”

“Right. Thanks.” Draco nodded. “Keep me updated, will you? The  _ moment _ you hear anything, I don’t care what time it is, you alert me immediately. Please.”

Kingsley nodded, looking slightly perplexed at Draco’s anxious state. “I’ll be sure to let you know, Mr Malfoy.” Without a word, Draco left the Minister’s office, heading for the Manor.

Back at home, he paced.

“You need to find some way to distract yourself, Dragon,” Narcissa soothed. “You'll be of no use to anyone else if you wear yourself out fretting like this.”

“But she’s in danger, I just know it! What if one of  _ his _ supporters has her?” Draco argued desperately.

“Worst case scenario, whoever has her would no doubt make demands,” Narcissa replied gently. “We haven’t heard anything, so we must hope for the best.” Orion hooted gently from his perch in the corner, seeming to understand the gravity of the situation.

“Can you try to find her again?” he asked the owl. Orion flapped his wings and bobbed his head as if to say,  _ I will try. _ “Then go. Please, try to locate her,” Draco begged. With another hoot and bob of his head, Orion flew out the window and into the blue skies. Draco resumed his pacing.

~xXx~

  
Hermione clung tightly to the broom as it sailed out across the sea, aiming for the distant glow. She was freezing and didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Briefly, she considered turning around - at least the house she had been confined to was warm. But no, she wouldn’t go back. She had no choice but to keep pushing forward.

After what seemed like an age, the glow finally seemed closer, and she fervently hoped whatever habitation she found would be magical so there would be no awkward questions about why she was carrying a broom while wearing pyjamas. Landing in a Muggle area where no one knew her would bring its own complications. Hermione would probably have to ditch the broom somewhere and pretend to be lost, confused, or something. Finally, she could see the shape of some cliffs edging nearer, and she gave silent thanks to Merlin. She tried to land on the firm ground but was so cold and numb she tumbled from the broom instead and hit the dirt hard. She lay there, panting and shivering, willing her body to move. Hermione felt herself starting to drift away from exhaustion and cold.

“Maybe just a little rest to get my strength back,” she murmured.

Some unknown time later, she came back to herself. Faintly, she could hear an annoying fluttering noise. It sounded like a... bat, maybe? She hated bats. Maybe it was a vampire bat. Maybe it was Dracula, come to bite her and turn her into a sultry vampiress who preyed on lonely young men. 

“I vant to suck your blood,” she giggled to herself. The flapping increased. She could feel it in her hair! _Yuck._ “Go’ _way_ , bat,” she slurred. “Lemme lone, don’ bite me.” She didn’t have the strength to lift her hand and bat it away. The bat clicked in her ear. _Since when do bats_ _click?_ She wondered. Then, it made a hooting noise. She felt heavy claws grip her shoulder.

Wait, that wasn’t a bat. An...owl? “G’way, owl,” she muttered. The owl did not. Instead, it hooted again. She tried her best to ignore it. She just wanted to lay here and sleep.

“OW!” Hermione was jolted rudely out of her state of semi-consciousness by a series of sharp pecks on her arm. She shot up, knocking the wretched bird away from her. It tumbled across the ground, shook off the dirt, and flew back to her, hooting madly. Squinting in the soft light of the moon, she looked closely at it.

“ _ Orion? _ Is that you?” Orion jumped onto her leg, nudging her hand with his beak.

“Where did you come from? Did Malfoy —  _ Draco _ — send you?” He hooted in affirmative. “I’m freezing. I need something warm. Can you find a jumper, a shirt, anything?” The owl bobbed his head and flew off immediately. Hermione got slowly and painfully to her feet and began walking around in circles, rubbing her arms briskly and stomping her bare feet in an attempt to retain what little warmth she could. She hoped Orion would find something soon. 

After some time, she looked up, noticing a big black shape floating in the air towards her.  _ Dementor!  _ She gasped in fright, turned, and ran blindly away from it., She glanced over her shoulder. It was getting closer, rapidly gaining on her! It swooped down toward her, and she threw her arms over her head in a helpless attempt at defense.

Instead of the anticipated attack, something heavy flopped over her body, and she heard hooting. Hermione quickly realised it was a blanket. Detangling herself from what she quickly realized was a blanket, Hermione sighed with relief. Orion had really outdone himself - it was more like a small quilt, really! As she shook it out around herself, she marvelled at how he had even managed to carry it. 

“Thank you!” she cried gratefully, as feeling began to come back into her aching body. She located the broom and mounted it. “Can you lead me to Draco?” Orion impatiently snapped his beak and circled her head as if to say,  _ of course, I can, silly witch. Hurry up and follow me. _ He soared into the air and Hermione shot after him, the quilt wrapped tightly around her torso.

~xXx~

Orion had been gone for hours. For every minute that passed without a sign of the bird, Draco’s worry increased. He wanted to go and look for Hermione himself but had no idea where to start. Suddenly a ripple passed through his body like a silent alarm. Someone was trying to breach the Malfoy wards.

“Draco! The wards!” his mother burst into the room, her wand in hand. He was just about to join her and investigate when Orion dived through the window, letting out an ear-splitting screech. He tore around the room, the draught from his wings ruffling Draco’s hair.

“You  _ found _ her? You found Hermione?” Draco shouted, his heart lifting in hope. The wards pulsed again, and Orion dive-bombed Draco, clawing urgently at his shirt and screeching in his ear. The blond man was torn. Someone was trying to breach his home, but Hermione needed his help, too. He turned helplessly, overwhelmed.

“Draco! Go with Orion! I’ll take the elves and investigate the wards!” Narcissa ordered. He nodded and tore after Orion, jumping out of the ground floor window in his haste and rushing after the bird’s rapidly retreating form. 

Orion led him across the expansive grounds and towards the eastern border of the Manor. Draco didn’t know how far away she was, but he would run all night if he had to. Now the bird was sailing towards the tall hedge that lined the border of his land, diving beyond it.

“ _ Reducto!”  _ Draco blasted a hole in the hedge and dived through it, looking around wildly. He promptly tripped over something soft and went sprawling to the ground.

Rising to his knees, Draco crawled over to examine the obstacle, which let out a small groan. It was moving, and he held his wand at the ready. A small, pale hand emerged from what appeared to be a blanket of some kind. He whipped the corner back, gasping in shock.

_ “Hermione!”  _ He touched her face. She was ice-cold and barely conscious, clad only in pyjamas. Picking her up in her arms, he Apparated back to the Manor, not even noticing that Narcissa and the elves had appeared behind him.

~xXx~

Hermione came to feeling blessedly warm. She was floating gently.  _ Am I dead? _ She wondered.

“Miss Granger,” a soft, melodic voice called.

“Mmmmm?” Hermione hummed. She didn’t want to talk. She was finally warm, and it felt amazing.

“Miss Granger!” the voice was more urgent.

_ I must not be dead after all, _ she thought to herself and cracked an eye open. “Oh!” Hermione jumped in fright, finding herself face-to-face with Narcissa Malfoy. Water splashed, and she realised she was in a warm, deep bath. Its size rivalled the Prefect’s bathtub at Hogwarts.

“It’s all right, Miss Granger. You’re safe here,” Narcissa said softly.

“M—Mrs Malfoy? How did I get here? In the bath, I mean. I remember flying...” she trailed off as she tried to recall what happened after she had followed Orion from the cliffs.

“You triggered the wards, and Orion led Draco beyond the property boundary to where you had collapsed,” the blonde witch explained. “He Apparated you inside the Manor. You were deathly cold so he had the elves draw you a bath and asked me to stay until you woke.”

“Draco? Where is he now?” Hermione blushed, realising she must sound terribly impolite. “Um, I mean, thank you so much for being here and getting me into this bath. I feel so much better now—”

“There’s no need at all, Miss Granger, really,” Narcissa interrupted, smiling warmly. “There are replenishing and rejuvenating potions on the side of the bath. Please drink them, and when you are ready, the elves will bring you downstairs where there will be a hot meal waiting.”

“Thank you,” Hermione smiled gratefully. Her stomach growled loudly. She hadn’t eaten since those sandwiches, and she had no idea how long ago that had been. Narcissa nodded and left the room. In her place, a small elf hurried into the bathroom, carrying a huge fluffy robe.

“Miss can wears this,” she said, placing it carefully on the chair the Malfoy matriarch had recently vacated. “When you is ready, you can calls for Tilly.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said again. She swam her way over to the potions and swallowed them quickly.  _ Thank Merlin for magic, _ she thought as she felt the pain and exhaustion ebb from her bones, replaced with a feeling of alertness and energy.

Climbing out of the bath, she donned the big, fluffy robe. It clearly had a light warming charm applied to it, and it felt like a big, fuzzy hot water bottle. Exiting the bathroom, she found a bra and underwear on a bed in what appeared to be a guest room, as well as fluffy socks that matched the robe. Once she had put them on and wrapped the robe around herself once again, she tentatively called out, “Hello? Tilly?”

With a small  _ pop _ , the elf reappeared, smiling at Hermione. “Miss must be hungry. There is food. Follow Tilly, please.” She turned and led the way through a maze of corridors until Hermione found herself in a small conservatory. Light was filtering through the big bay windows, warming the small space, and Hermione could see a garden beyond.

“Hermione! Thank Gods!” She was suddenly and warmly embraced from behind by a frantic Draco, who then turned her around to face him, gripping her shoulders. “What happened? Who took you? How did you get away? Tell me who it was, I’ll curse them to Hades, I swear it!”

“Draco! Let the poor girl alone!” Draco dropped her shoulders and they both turned to regard Narcissa, who had entered the room behind her son. “Let her eat and rest. No questions until she is ready to answer,” she continued firmly.

“But—” Draco tried to argue.

“No buts.” Taking Hermione by the arm, Narcissa led her to a small table in the corner and helped her sit. Immediately, food appeared on the table in a way not dissimilar to meals in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Not wasting any time, she began helping herself to porridge, toast, and fruit. A steaming cup appeared by her hand, and she examined it warily.

“It’s hot chocolate. No sleeping draughts, I promise,” Draco said softly from behind her. 

“How did you know—?”

“I went to your flat after Orion couldn’t deliver my message to you. I was worried. I found the teacups.”

Hermione growled and slammed her fist on the table, remembering. “I’ll kill them.”

“Eat now, then rest. Retaliate against your kidnappers later,” Narcissa ordered, sitting opposite her. Hermione laughed cynically. Her kidnappers, indeed. She went back to her breakfast, her mind spinning with ways to teach them both a lesson. Finally, she was full and satisfied. Now, she felt her eyes grow heavy, and she yawned. “Tilly, take Miss Granger back to her room to rest,” Narcissa instructed. 

Hermione wanted to argue against having elves assist her and to protest against how they had been ordered to help her previously, but she was just too damn tired. Nodding to Narcissa and Draco, she followed Tilly back through the Manor to the guest room. The bed was already turned down and waiting. She crawled between the covers and was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

~xXx~

  
Draco sat, quietly seething with rage, as Hermione recounted her ordeal to him and his mother. He just could not believe that Potty and Weasel would actually sink so low as to slip her a sleeping draught and then lock her up in some Godric-forsaken safe house with nothing but - quite literally - a pot to piss in. He itched to go out and find them right now and throw every hex and curse he knew at their worthless hides, but he suspected that if he did Hermione would get upset with him for beating her to it. He was very,  _ very _ glad he wasn’t The Chosen One or the ginger git right now.

_ More like the Marked One and the ginger git,  _ Draco thought to himself with a smirk. 

“Then I found a broom in the shed,” she was saying now, and his attention snapped back to her. She turned to him now, regarding him gratefully. “Draco, if it hadn’t been for that lesson you gave me, I never would have attempted it, but—”

“—You flew?” he felt his lips stretch in an impossibly wide grin,

“I flew. Right out over the water. I could see a glow in one direction so I followed it, but I have no idea where I ended up. By the time I got to the other side, I was half-frozen and couldn’t move. I had a rough landing and couldn’t get up.”

“Was that when Orion found you?” Draco asked.

“Yes. If you hadn’t sent him, if he hadn’t found me, I would have—”

Draco shuddered at the thought. “No wonder he couldn’t find you when I sent the letter - you were hidden by a Fidelius charm. I’m going to give him all the treats he wants from now on,” Draco said, shaking his head in amazement. “Thank the Gods he found you when he did and that you found that broom.”

“What happened to it?” Hermione wondered. “The broom, I mean. Did you see it anywhere?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “I barely noticed anything else after I found you. What about you, Mother?” 

Narcissa shook her head. “I was equally distracted. I’ll send the elves out to search the area where you landed, Miss Granger.” She paused. “How do you plan to deal with this incident?” 

“I haven’t decided yet,” Hermione replied, fire burning in her chocolate brown eyes. “But when I do, they’ll be sorry.”

~xXx~

  
Harry and Ron were sitting dejectedly on the couch in the safe house. 

“I just don’t understand it,” muttered Ron.

“We are in so much shite,” Harry sighed in response.

Harry had arrived back on the small boat just after first light with groceries and other supplies to find Ron waiting for him on the small jetty, looking panicked. He had immediately known what was wrong - somehow,  _ somehow,  _ Hermione had gotten out of her room and was loose.

Quickly tying the boat up, Harry clambered out onto the platform to join his friend. “How long has she been gone?” he asked, worriedly.

“I dunno, mate. I woke up half an hour ago and her door was open. There’s no sign of her.”

“Have you looked for her?”

“Not really,” Ron said, looking embarrassed. “I wanted to wait for you. I mean, she can’t have gone far.”

“Why would you need to wait for me?” Harry asked, though he knew the answer.

“I’m  _ scared, _ Harry. She’s out there somewhere, seriously pissed at us! It’s not safe to go alone!”

“Well, we had better go find her now that I’m back,” Harry replied. “Let’s just get these supplies inside.” Ron helped Harry carry the bags up the steps and towards the house, rustling through the contents as he walked.

“Chocolate Frogs! Brilliant!” The red-headed man began trying to open a packet one-handed as he walked, and very nearly fell up the steps.

“Can’t you at least wait until we’re inside, Ron?” Harry asked him irritably.

“Right. Sorry,” Ron apologised. Clutching the packet in his hand, he moved ahead of Harry and cleared the steps, hurrying towards the house.

By the time Harry got inside, Ron had demolished two Chocolate Frogs and was starting on a third. “Do you really think this is the right time to be stuffing your face with chocolate?” Harry asked exasperatedly.

“What do you want from me, Harry?” Ron snapped defensively, his mouth full of chocolate. “First you tell me to wait until I get inside, then you have a go at me for eating inside!”

“I  _ want _ you to help me find Hermione!” Harry answered, dropping his own bag down on the counter with a thump.

“Oh yeah,” Ron nodded, going slightly pale as he remembered the predicament they found themselves in.

“At least she didn’t get your wand,” Harry said as they made their way out the door. “Otherwise she’d have hexed your bollocks off, and mine too, probably.” 

A thorough search of the island, however, proved fruitless. Hermione was nowhere to be found, and now Harry and Ron were extremely worried.

“She can’t have gotten off the island,” Ron tried again, revisiting the mantra he had begun using with increased frequency as it had become obvious to them she was, in fact, no longer on the island. “You had the only boat and it’s too far to swim.”

“Well she isn’t here, Ron! She  _ must _ have gotten off the island somehow - although Merlin knows how, without her magic.”

“Maybe we should take the boat and search around the rocks,” Ron suggested heavily. “Isn’t there a cave on the far side?”

“Good idea,” Harry nodded. He fervently hoped she was okay. Then again, if she  _ was _ okay, he and Ron would be Hippogriff feed. Either way, they were in deep, deep shite.

~xXx~

  
Kingsley couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Of course, he had seen the article in the  _ Prophet _ himself and received Auror Robbins’ report on the matter, but clearly there was a spark between the two young people in his office, and  _ that  _ was what he found so unexpected. He had known Hermione was a strong believer in leaving the past in the past and second chances, but he never would have imagined she would become anything more than tolerant of Draco. In regards to her disappearance, Hermione had been close-lipped, evasive even, Draco hovering protectively by her side. She had explained away the matter of the sleeping draught by saying she was ‘testing its potency.’ Kingsley didn’t buy that for a moment, but he knew arguing would be pointless.

“Minister,” she asked, “Tell me about the safe houses the Ministry owns.”

“What do you want to know about them?” Kingsley asked carefully.

“Well, how many are there, and roughly where are they located?”

“We have half a dozen, three here in England, and one each in Wales, Ireland, and Scotland,” he answered. “Why do you ask?” 

“Oh, I just wondered,” she replied airily. “I heard Ron and Harry talking about them once.”

She sat up. “Speaking of those two, I haven’t heard from them in a couple of days. You wouldn’t happen to know where they are?”

“Are they still on that mission you mentioned the other day?” Draco added.

“As far as I know, yes,” Kingsley replied. He quite strongly suspected that Harry and Ron were somehow involved in Hermione’s disappearance. She was obviously hiding some vital information.

“Right. Well, we should be off,” Hermione smiled at him, jumping up.

Raising his eyes in surprise at this abrupt conclusion, Kinglsey simply nodded. “Very well, Miss Granger. Thank you for letting me know you are well. Mr Malfoy here was quite worried.” Hermione nodded and departed without another word, Draco in tow. Kinglsey had seen the look in her eyes earlier. As Minister, he really should have pushed the issue and attempted to convince her to tell him the whole story, but if he was being honest with himself, he wanted no part of it.

Standing, he moved over to the small window, brooding as he looked out over London. “Morgana help whoever crossed Hermione Granger,” he said to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

“You have a plan, don’t you?” Draco asked as they left the Ministry.

“I just might,” Hermione smirked. They exited the building and made their way up the street. Suddenly Hermione took his arm and pulled him into a small lane. “How good are you at wards and magical suppression charms?” she asked, her eyes gleaming.

“Passably good,” Draco shrugged. “We have a lot of security around the Manor, even more so since the trials. I’m primarily responsible for maintaining our wards, but I haven’t had much call to use magical suppression charms.”

“Good enough,” she smirked. “Harry and Ron are supposed to be my two best friends. Instead, they slipped me a sleeping potion and locked me in a bloody room. I think they need to know how that feels.”

“And you want my help?”

“Oh yes,” Hermione nodded. “It’ll burn their arses to know you’re my accomplice.”

“And what are you going to do once they’re locked up?” A rather fearsome grin came over her face, and Draco found himself taking an involuntary step back. 

“I’m going to tell Molly Weasley everything.”

Draco gasped. He had seen Molly Weasley in action, and he still remembered the Howler she had sent the redheaded git in second year. Hermione was a pussycat next to that woman. “But she’ll kill them!” He protested weakly.

“She well might,” Hermione nodded.

“Don’t you think that’s going a little too far?” Draco argued.

“Seriously?” she replied, throwing up her arms in outrage. “I gave them plenty of warning to back off and leave me to my own devices. They deserve whatever they get.”

“But.. you’d really  _ tattle _ on them?”

“It’s not  _ tattling,  _ Draco!” Hermione exploded. “It’s merely—”

“Merely, what?” Draco pressed, smirking.

“—giving an update,” Hermione finished, lamely. 

“Mmmhmmm. An update. Yes, I see now.”

“Look, are you going to help me or not?” she asked petulantly.

“Oh, absolutely,” Draco nodded. “I would be offended if you didn’t involve me in teaching them a lesson.” He reached out and tenderly cupped her face. “I was worried sick about you. I thought you had been taken by one of Voldemort’s supporters.”

Pulling her towards him, Draco kissed her softly on her full lips. She sighed into him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his and deepening the kiss. Her tongue flicked against his upper lip, and he responded, parting them and pressing the tip of his own tongue to hers. His hands slid from her face to her shoulders, down the sides of her body and around to cup her arse. He half expected her to pull away and slap him for taking such liberties in public, but instead, she tilted her hips forward and ground into him, causing him to groan. He pulled away first before he could become entirely carried away and attempt to shag her up against the wall, and she huffed softly in disappointment, lost in the moment. 

“Perhaps we should slow down before I do something positively indecent in full view of the street,” she murmured against his lips, somewhat regretfully.

“Perhaps we should find somewhere more comfortable,” Draco replied. “Somewhere we’re not apt to find ourselves splashed over the front page of the  _ Prophet _ in a compromising position _. _ ”

Hermione nibbled adorably on her bottom lip as she contemplated his offer, before shaking her head. “No, we really should slow down,” she said, apologetically. “We’ve barely begun to get to know each other properly.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Granger,” he reassured her, giving her one last chaste kiss. “Now distract me from my uncomfortable situation—” he gestured in the vicinity of his trousers with a wince “—by telling me your plan to punish Potty and Weasel.” She giggled and flushed before stepping back and taking his hand, leading him back to the street.

“We need to find a house to lock them up in,” she explained. “Somewhere we can put up wards and charms so they can’t use their magic or escape. We’ll take their wands, of course. Although—” she paused, thoughtfully. “I don’t think we’ll need terribly strong magic-repelling charms. Neither of them are very good at wandless magic. They’re far too impatient and never practiced enough.”

“Sounds about right,” Draco snorted. “How either of them passed any of their classes, I don’t know.”

“They wouldn’t have, if not for me. Ungrateful bastards,” she griped. “I spent  _ hours _ with them both - especially Ron - going over the lessons they didn’t pay attention to, explaining the assignments, and checking and correcting their work. It really cut into my own study time.”

“And yet you were top of the class in every subject,” Draco replied with admiration. 

“Not  _ every _ subject,” she reminded him with a small smile. “I avoided taking any class where I wouldn’t excel. Like flying.”

“A few more lessons with me and you’ll be doing barrel rolls and loop-de-loops to rival a professional Quidditch player,” Draco teased her. He laughed when she shuddered.

“I don’t think I’m quite ready for acrobatics, thank you.”

“A pity. Acrobatics can be very...stimulating.”   
  


“I’m sure you know all about stimulation, don’t you?” Hermione replied breathily, peeping at him from under her eyelashes. It was quite distracting.

“Granger,” Draco grumbled. This discussion is not helping with my—” he looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “—my  _ trouser  _ problem.”

“Well, you were the one who brought up  _ stimulation, _ ” she teased, drawing out the last word in a way that was far too sexy.

“Bloody witch,” he muttered, looking away. “Will you tell me about this damn plan, already?”

“Oh, yes!” Hermione said, brightening. “Once we have them secreted away in a couple of rooms, I plan to leave them there for several days, at least. Perhaps as long as a week.”

“Why give them the luxury of one room each?” Draco asked. “Put them both in one room, make them share.”

“Ohhh, I like that!” Hermione exclaimed. “Yes, let’s put them in one room, with one bed— no, one  _ mattress _ on the floor— and no other furniture.

“Don’t forget a chamber pot,” Draco added with a smirk.

“Absolutely can’t forget that!” she laughed, leaning into him as they walked.

“So where are we going to find a place to hide them away?”

“A realtor,” Hermione replied. “We’ll see what houses they have on offer and confound one of the agents into lending us an empty house for a week or so. I know a dodgy place in Lambeth, we’ll go there.”

Soon they came to another small lane, and she pulled him into the shadows. “Hold tight, I’ll take you there now.”

Draco kept a firm grip on her hand as she Apparated them to a small, run-down looking street with very little activity. Half the shops appeared to be empty, and the others had storefronts with bars on the windows or rough-looking men outside. A sign above one said,  _ Pawn and Loan _ , another one sold liquor, and a third appeared to be a small pub. The one Hermione was leading them towards simply said  _ Johnson and Mathews, Realtors and Solicitors. _

“Granger,” Draco said quietly, mindful of the rough-looking men outside the pub. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course,” she answered impatiently. “The dodgier, the better. No one around here is going to call the police to report suspicious activity, so we can use a bit of subtle magic without worrying about being interfered with.”

“Oh,” was all Draco could think of to say.

Hermione strode boldly into the realtor’s, Draco trailing behind her. A fat man in an ugly suit was sitting behind a desk and rose to greet them with a grin on his face and his hand outstretched.

“‘Ello, luv. I’m Dick Johnson,” he said, looking Hermione up and down in a lecherous way and ignoring Draco completely. “‘Ow can I ‘elp you today? Need a bit of legal advice and short on dosh? I can offer you an attractive payment option, a pretty one like you.” Draco balled his hands into fists, understanding perfectly well what this crude, revolting man had meant by ‘payment option’. How  _ dare _ he make such a sleazy offer, and entirely without preamble, with him  _ in the room _ ! He reached for his wand. He was going to hex this man’s bollocks off right now!

“No, actually, my  _ boyfriend  _ and I—” Hermione grabbed his wand hand quickly, preventing him from retrieving it, “—Well, we’re looking for a flat but his parents are dreadful snobs and don’t approve. Unfortunately, they’ve disowned him, and so our budget for rent is rather limited. We’re hoping you have listings just outside of London.”

“Young love, eh?” Dick chuckled. “Righto, I’ll show you one of our portfolios. Sing out if you see anythin’ that catches yer fancy.” He reached behind him and took a tattered looking folder from a stack on a shelf behind him, passing it to Hermione, before pointing to a small table in the corner of the tiny office.

Hermione nodded and took the folder, leading the way to the table. Draco curled his lip in disgust. The table and the chairs looked filthy. He was concerned they might catch something if they went anywhere near them. She clearly felt the same way, because he heard her whisper a cleaning charm before sitting. She opened the folder and turned it towards him so he could see, and they began flipping through the clear pages. Draco couldn’t believe the state of some of these...  _ hovels.  _

“Bloody hell,” he murmured quietly. “These make Hagrid’s shack look like a palace. Does anyone seriously  _ live _ in these things? They should all be condemned!”

“I agree, they’re absolutely horrid,” she whispered back. “But considering what we need them for, their state isn’t really that much of a concern, is it?”

“I don’t even want to go near them,” Draco muttered back. “I’d never feel clean again.” She sniggered and shushed him, continuing to turn pages.

“What about this one?” she whispered, pointing to a small wooden house badly in need of repainting. “It says in the description it’s in Essex, two rooms, one bath, fireplace, kitchenette. And it’s semi-rural so it will be far enough away from any other residences that people are less likely to notice comings and goings.”

“It looks like it would catch alight at a single spark,” Draco whispered back.

“Well, we’ve got magic to prevent that,” Hermione reminded him.

“Sounds like you two are ‘avin’ a good old discussion over there,” came Dick’s voice. Draco heard him stand and turned in his seat to see the man waddling towards them. “‘Ave you found somethin’ you like?”

“Yes,” Hermione turned and smiled at the man. “We’d like to see this one, please. It looks positively charming. When can we view?”

“I can take you right now if you like?” Dick answered enthusiastically. Clearly, he was keen to get them on board.

“Lovely,” Hermione beamed.

So it was that Draco found himself squished into the passenger seat of Dick’s very small, very untidy car on his way out of London and towards what Hermione had referred to with a perfectly straight face as their “dream first home.” When they finally made their way up the small, overgrown driveway an hour later, Draco had to bite down on his tongue to hold back a snide remark. It looked even worse up close than in the picture. However, Hermione bounded out of the car with a giggle, and Dick hauled his large frame from the driver’s seat, so Draco was forced to feign enthusiasm.

Dick took them on a tour of the home. It took all of five minutes. The bath was cramped and dark, the kitchenette was barely big enough to swing a Kneazle, and the rooms were small and ugly.

“It’s perfect,” Hermione cried, grabbing Draco’s arm. “Oh, darling, I love it! Can’t we take it?” He glanced at Hermione, then at Dick, who was watching him closely with a hungry look on his face. Clearly, he didn’t get many tenants, and Draco could see why.

“It’s only seven ‘undred pounds a month,” Dick interjected hopefully. 

“Whatever you want, darling,” Draco replied, keeping a close eye on Dick as he spoke.

“Brilliant, you’ll be right pleased wif’ this place, we can ‘ead back and draw up the contract—” Dick’s face lit up and he moved towards them, his chubby hand out to shake. He suddenly froze in place, his hand still extended. Draco glanced towards Hermione and saw she had her wand out. 

“You’re ever so kind, letting us have a week’s free trial period,” she smiled. “We’re a very plain, ordinary couple, of course, and you are a busy man with a large portfolio, so you won’t remember quite what we look like or which property we’re trialling.” She lowered her wand, the  _ Confundus _ complete, and Dick came back slowly, blinking owlishly and without recognition at them.

“Right then, ‘ere’s the key,” he said, handing it to Hermione. “I can’t recall which property it’s for, but you’ve a week’s free trial period. Kindly return the key when the week is up, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Hermione smiled, taking the key. “Have a safe drive back to London.”

“Right, right,” Dick muttered absently, turning away and heading for the front door. Draco watched with amusement as the realtor shuffled slowly to his car as if in a dream, got in, and drove away.

“Well,” Hermione said, rubbing her hands together. “That takes care of that. Let’s get this shit pile in order, shall we?”

“You’re brilliant, d’you know that?” Draco asked. He was slightly in shock at Hermione’s faultless acting and execution. “You should have been in Slytherin.” She simply shrugged, a small smile playing about her features, and pulled out her wand again to start cleaning the small house and improving what few amenities it provided. Draco pulled out his own wand and joined her.

Nearly an hour later, the small house was clean, the kitchen had been enlarged, the bath had more light and was also larger, and the necessary wards and magic-suppressing charms had been placed. Hermione had also conjured a lock and key for one of the rooms, even creating a small hinged flap in the base of the door just big enough to pass trays of food and the chamber pot back and forth. Finally, she transfigured a piece of wood into a mattress to place on the floor before casting the final charms that would prevent anyone in the house from using any type of magic.

“Um, Granger,” Draco hazarded, once they were finished. “You don’t intend for  _ us _ to stay here too, do you? Because I don’t think I could cope with having to spend time in this shack and not even be able to use my magic.”

Hermione laughed. “Oh, Gods, no. We’ll bring them here, lock them up, and pop in every so often to feed and taunt them.”

“Sounds good to me,” Draco grinned. Laughing, they left the small building, crossed the wards they had created, and Apparated back to London.

~xXx~

  
Ron stepped through the Floo at Grimmauld place, holding a letter and frowning.

“Harry,” he called. “Are you home?”

“Filthy red-headed man is back again.” Kreacher appeared in the living room, muttering. “Kreacher doesn’t know what Master sees in him. Master shouldn’t be associating with the likes of the Weasleys, destitute breeders and blood traitors, all—”

“Come now, Kreacher, I thought you liked Ron?” Harry chastised the old elf gently as he walked into the room. “Can you get some tea, please?”

“Yes, Master. Kreacher will fetch tea.” He hurried out of the room, leaving the two wizards alone.

“Alright, Ron?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. Hey Harry, did you get an owl from Hermione?”

“No, I—” Just then there was a tapping at the small window. Hermione’s owl, the only one apart from Ron’s who knew the location of the house, was there holding a letter in her beak.

Harry opened the window and let her in, taking the parchment and absently offering her some owl treats from a jar on the fireplace mantle. He opened it and read aloud,

_ Dear Harry, _

_ I think you, Ron, and I need to have a chat. Yes, I’m cross with you both, but I promise not to hex or curse either of you. Let’s just say I’ve had time to think, and I see where you are both coming from. Come over to my place for a drink tonight. Let’s sort this mess out properly. _

_ Love,  _

_ Hermione _

_ P.S Kindly return my wand. _

“Did your letter say the same thing?” Harry asked Ron, looking up with his brow furrowed.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, holding out his own letter. “What do you think she’s up to?”

“I dunno,” replied Harry, carding his hand through his messy black hair. “But I’m sure it’s nothing too bad. She’ll probably just shout at us again.”

“You don’t think she’d, you know,  _ hurt _ us or anything?” Ron checked nervously.

“Well, she said she wouldn’t, and Hermione always keeps her word,” Harry shrugged. “We should probably go and get this over with. And look, she says she sees where we’re coming from. Maybe she’s realised Malfoy is a prat and not worth her time, after all.”

“Yeah, alright,” Ron nodded. “Meet you there at six?”

“Six it is.” Ron Floo’ed back to the Burrow with a wave.

~xXx~

  
Promptly at six pm, Hermione’s Floo roared and Harry stepped through the flames, joined a few minutes later by Ron. Harry dutifully returned her wand, and she took it with a nod. All smiles, Hermione bustled about, bringing in boxes of pizza to the living room, while a bottle of Firewhiskey and three glasses containing the amber liquid floated behind her. Setting everything out on the small dining table, she gestured for them to sit, smiling. 

“Sit and have something to eat.” She noticed the way Ron’s eyes lit up, and he sat down immediately, helping himself to pizza. Harry, on the other hand, moved slowly toward an empty chair and sat, watching her warily. 

“Will you tell us how you escaped?” he asked.

“Oh, Harry,” she laughed. “Don’t look so frightened. I said I wouldn’t curse or hex you. Relax, have a slice of pizza, and drink with me. Then I’ll tell you where you messed up.” She picked up her glass of Firewhiskey and took a sip.

Ron needed no further invitation and picked up his glass, holding it aloft. “To the Golden Trio,” he toasted. 

“The Golden Trio,” Hermione echoed, holding up her own glass. She and Ron looked at Harry expectantly.

“Come on mate, don’t leave us hanging,” Ron pressed.

Harry waited a moment longer, then finally grinned. “The Golden Trio,” he said, clinking his glass against theirs.

Together, they tipped back their drinks, slamming their empty glasses on the table.

~xXx~

When Harry woke up, he didn’t know where he was. He heard faint snoring beside him and the bit of pre-dawn light coming through the small, dirty window told him it was Ron beside him. Harry felt groggy and his head was pounding.  _ Merlin, how much did we drink? _ He wondered. He set about shaking Ron awake, still trying to work out where they were. He didn’t recognise the room at all, so they definitely weren’t at Grimmauld Place, the Burrow, or Hermione’s flat.

“Ron! Ron, wake up!”

“Lemme ‘lone, m’sleepin’!”

“ _ Ron! _ ” Harry fumbled around in his robes for his wand, intending to cast a  _ Lumos _ in order to get a better look at his surroundings. He felt around the mattress, and then over the side, discovering the mattress was flat on a hard wooden floor. Feeling the faint stirrings of alarm, Harry sat up and resumed trying to rouse Ron.

“Ron! Something’s not right! Wake up!” When Ron was still reluctant to respond, Harry shoved his friend bodily over the side of the mattress, hearing Ron’s head connect with the floor with a  _ thump _ .

“Ow! Bloody hell Harry, what’d you do that for?” Ron sat up, rubbing his head, and looked around. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know, Ron. I was hoping you did.” Harry paused. “You don’t happen to have your wand, do you?”

“Yeah of course I do. It’s right—” Ron searched through his robes, quickly at first, then more slowly and thoroughly, and finally felt around the mattress and floor. “No, I don’t have it. Harry - what’s going on?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry replied heavily. “But I suspect it has something to do with Hermione.” He pointed to what was obviously a chamber pot sitting in a corner of the room.

“But how can it? She said she wouldn’t hex or curse us. She promised!” Ron replied, sounding put upon. Harry got up unsteadily and tried the door. It was locked, of course. He turned back to Ron.

“I don’t think she did. I think she slipped us a sleeping draught and brought us to Merlin knows where.”

“Fuck,” Ron muttered, his shoulders drooping.

~xXx~

  
Hermione stood with Draco and listened from the other side of the door, holding their hands over their mouths to suppress the sniggers. It had been unbelievably easy to slip them both a sleeping draught in their whiskey. Neither of them had thought twice about accepting food and drink from her - despite the fact they had caught her unawares using the same method. Well, maybe Harry had been a bit cautious, but he had quickly caved after a bit of pressure from Ron, so her plan had worked perfectly. She and Draco had apparated them just outside the wards once they were both unconscious, carrying them into the house one at a time using a stretcher. Draco had been quite impressed by, as he called it, the ‘Muggle  _ Levicorpus  _ trick’. Once inside, they had dropped Harry and Ron onto the mattress, making sure to leave the chamber pot in full view.

Unlike her erstwhile friends, Hermione had known the correct amount of sleeping draught to use, so she avoided overdosing them. She administered just enough to knock them out for eight hours, plenty of time to transport the two of them to the room they would be staying in for the next few days. Now, as the sun was beginning to rise, they were just waking up, confused and worried. The fun was about to begin.

She knocked softly on the door. 

“Oh, Harry... Ronald… are you awake in there?” she sang.

“Hermione! What did you do?” Harry shouted from the other side.

“Yeah! Let us out, you mad bint!” added Ron.

“Now, now, Weasel. That’s not a very nice way to talk to my girlfriend,” Draco drawled, winking at Hermione.

“Malfoy! What the fuck are you doing here?” Ron again.

“I’m helping my girlfriend execute her revenge,” Draco replied. “She’s very clever, you know, not one to cross. I would have thought you would know that, considering how long you’ve known her.”

“Stop calling her your girlfriend, you ferret!”

“Really, Ronald,” Hermione chided the enraged redheaded man. “You must calm down. Draco  _ is _ my boyfriend—” she glanced over to see that Draco’s face had lit up in a way that was very endearing.  _ Am I really?  _ He mouthed. She nodded, smiling. “—and what’s more, I’m rather fond of him,” Hermione continued.

“Hermione, we’re sorry.” Harry now. “We should never have slipped you a sleeping draught and taken you to that safe house. Just let us out and we’ll never do it again.”

“Oh, no. you’re not getting away that easily,” she laughed.

“Hermione,  _ please! _ ” 

Silently, Hermione took Draco’s hand and led him towards the small living room. She picked up Ron’s and Harry’s wands from the coffee table, securing them inside her coat pocket. Faintly, she could hear shuffling, banging, and rattling noises. Her friends’ futile attempt to escape the room made her grin to herself. She had made sure there would not be a single thing in there that would assist them and hadn’t been foolish enough to leave the key in the lock as they had. No, they would remain there until she decided they had been punished enough. 

Now it was time for some psychological warfare.

“Draco,” she said, loudly enough so that they would surely hear her, “I think we should visit the Burrow. Molly and Ginny will be terribly worried, otherwise. Then I suppose we should reassure the head of the DMLE that Harry and Ron are well but out of contact for the next few days.”

“Quite right,” Draco replied with a smirk, his voice raised also. “I wouldn’t want to cause a mother or fiance to fret, or the DMLE to waste time attempting to find someone who doesn’t want to be found and is in no danger.”

“Don’t you dare tell my mum!” Ron’s panicked voice floated down the hallway. “She’ll kill me!”

“Bye, lads!” Draco called back as Hermione led him out of the front door. She locked it behind her. Then they made their way beyond the wards and apparated to the Burrow.

~xXx~

  
Draco looked around in amazement. He had never seen the Burrow for himself before, only heard tell of it. He had envisioned, in his youth, a ramshackle, tiny, ugly home in desperate need of repair. Ramshackle as it was, with its tall, narrow and somewhat lopsided frame, it had an air of love, laughter. and warmth, and was clearly well looked after despite its asymmetrical and haphazard design. He rather liked it.

As Hermione led him up the walk, Draco turned to her and said, “You’re not really going to dob them in, are you?”

“No, I suppose not,” she sighed. “I won’t tell her everything, she’ll go spare and probably maim them both.”

Reaching the door, she rapped on it sharply then opened it, calling, “Hello! Anyone home?”

Molly came bustling into the kitchen, all smiles. “Come in, Hermione dear, come in! Sit down and I’ll make tea. Would you like—” she stopped short as she realised the curly-haired witch was not alone.

“Molly,” Hermione smiled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve brought a visitor. You remember Draco Malfoy, don’t you?”

“I remember,” Molly nodded, smiling tightly. “Good morning, Mr Malfoy.”

“Good morning, Mrs Weasley,” Draco replied, extending his hand. “Please, call me Draco.”

Molly, ever the gracious host, shook hands briefly, then indicated the large, scrubbed table. “Sit down, I’ll make you some tea. Have you had breakfast?” Draco’s stomach rumbled.

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose, Molly,” Hermione demurred, much to Draco’s silent disappointment.

“Nonsense! I’m already cooking for at least half a dozen, what’s two more?” The older witch immediately began moving about the kitchen, casting spells and charms. The kettle filled itself and settled on the hob, and bacon, eggs, and sausages flew out of the fridge and into frying pans. Soon delicious smells filled the kitchen and surrounding rooms, drawing the rest of the house’s inhabitants.

Arthur was the first to descend the stairs, tying his tie. He barely batted an eye when he noticed Draco, merely nodding in greeting as if it was perfectly normal to see the son of a notorious Death Eater sitting at his table. Ginny pounded down the stairs next and squealed in delight to see Hermione, rushing over to give her friend a hug. 

“Alright, Malfoy?” She greeted Malfoy with raised an eyebrow before seating herself on Hermione’s other side.

George was next, followed by Percy, and both wizards stared - George with predatory interest, and Percy with suspicion.

“Mum, Dad,” Percy spoke, “Is that Draco Malfoy?”

“It is, and he is our guest, accompanying Hermione,” Molly replied sternly. “You will treat him the way you would any other guest in our home, and no politics. As for you, George—” Molly fixed him with a warning look, “—no testing out any of your inventions on guests.”

“Come on Mum, you know I wouldn’t,” George grinned, the glint in his eyes betraying his true thoughts. “But if he asks to see what I’m working on, what’s the harm in that?”

“ _ Don’t _ ask,” Ginny cautioned, leaning past Hermione to look at Draco. 

“Yes, don’t,” Hermione laughed. “Unless you fancy a radical change in your appearance or perceptions.”

Once everyone was seated, Molly got up to direct the serving of the tea and breakfast. “Where’s Ron?” she asked, looking around the table. “At Harry’s again, is he?”

“Um, Ron and Harry are indisposed right now, but they’re perfectly fine,” Hermione answered.

“What have they done now?” Molly asked suspiciously, sitting down and beginning to eat.

“Oh, nothing much,” Hermione shrugged. “I’m just playing a little prank on them in return for them playing one on me. It’s a game we’re playing at the moment.”

“And why has no one invited me to be part of this game?” George interjected, looking offended. “I’m the  _ king _ of hilarious, clever and original pranks, or have you forgotten?”

“Oh, George,” Hermione smiled. “Of course I didn’t forget. Maybe you can tell me about some of your latest products after breakfast.”

George grinned, mollified. “Grand! I’ll have something you’ll like, I’m sure of it!”

The rest of the meal passed without incident, and after they had eaten Hermione led Draco around the garden. “Watch out for the gnomes,” she warned. “They bite.”

Draco felt perfectly content. Molly’s cooking had been delicious, and he had eaten until he was full to bursting at her insistence. (“You’re far too thin, dear. Have another sausage and some more toast.”) Now, he was enjoying the sunshine and the feel of Hermione’s small hand in his.

“So,” Ginny’s voice soon interrupted as she approached from behind. “What did my arse of a brother and troublesome future husband do this time? I take it’s something to do with Malfoy?”

Hermione glanced at Draco. “It’s okay,” she said, with a conspiratorial wink. “We can tell Ginny. She won’t breathe a word, and she’ll keep the maiming to a minimum.” They sat down in the grass, and Hermione told the whole story, from how she had caught Ron and Harry in her flat, to her capture, escape, and subsequent rescue, and to the current situation of Ron and Harry in the very position they’d placed Hermione in. Draco watched with amusement as a range of expressions passed over Ginny’s face, from incredulity to amazement (“You flew, Hermione? That’s great!”), to admiration (“You taught her, Malfoy? Fair play to you!”), to outrage (“Who in Merlin’s name do they think they are?”), to worry, and then to relief.

“Well, I don’t blame you,” Ginny said with a smirk. “They deserve to be stuck there. Feed them bread and water. They’ll hate that even more, Ron, especially.”

“Actually, I was thinking of taking George up on his offer,” Hermione replied thoughtfully. “I’m sure he’ll have something I can slip into their food to give them horrible nightmares or something.”

“I’ll go get him!’ Ginny exclaimed, bouncing up and tearing back to the house.

Several minutes later, Ginny returned with George in tow, wearing his trademark mischievous grin. He sat down in front of Draco and Hermione, reached into his pocket and withdrew a tiny box, which he enlarged to the size of a salesperson’s sample case. Opening the lid, he laid it in the grass before them, displaying an array of coloured bottles containing powders and potions.

“I hear from my darling sister here that ickle Ronnikins is being a twat again and that Harry has been a bit of a tosser as well. I have a range of products here perfect for the discerning customer looking for a tailored revenge package.”

Draco was impressed. “You came up with all of this yourself?” he asked.

“Well, not just me,” George admitted, sadness crossing his features. “Almost all of these items I created with Fred. It’s just not the same without him.”

“I’m very sorry,” Draco replied softly, placing a hand on George’s arm. “I can't even begin to imagine how hard it must be for you and the rest of your family.”

“Thanks, Malfoy. That means a lot,” George nodded. “Some days, to be honest, I want to pack it all in, but I know Fred wouldn’t want me to do that. So, here I am, ready and willing to help a friend and test out some of my products on my little brother and his twatty mate.”

“Do you have anything that would induce hallucinations or nightmares?” Hermione asked, leaning over the box of products with interest.

“ _ Do I have anything that would induce hallucinations or nightmares? _ ” George scoffed. “You wound me with that question, Hermione. Of  _ course, _ I do.”

He pulled out a tiny bottle that contained a swirling pale yellow liquid. “A couple of drops of this in their drink and they’ll be seeing terrible things in their dreams.”

“And how long will it last?” Draco enquired. 

“Oh, only about a couple of hours or so,” George replied. 

“How does it work?” Hermione asked, taking the bottle and examining it.

“Oh, it’s quite brilliant. Perfect for you!” George winked. “It takes the thing the person feels most guilty about and turns it against them. Terrible, awful things happen as a result of whatever it is that’s eating away at them.”

“And there are no known lasting side effects?” she checked. “I like the idea of them having horrific nightmares, but I don’t want them to suffer any long-term or future complications.”

“You’re far too good to them, you know,” Draco sniped. “Even when you’re punishing them, you’re looking out for their wellbeing.”

“I’m not a complete ogre, Draco,” she fired back, giving him a smirk. She turned back to George, awaiting his answer.

“Oh no, it’s perfectly safe,” George reassured her. “Fred and I tested this one on ourselves quite a few times when we first developed it, but since then I’ve improved it. The memories of the dreams used to last for several days before fading away, but now they’re gone within twenty-four hours.”

“Perfect,” smiled Hermione. “I’ll wait a couple of days before using it, just in case they’re initially suspicious of what we feed them.”

“You will report the results back to me, won’t you?” George checked, his face alight with glee.

“Of course,” Hermione nodded as she tucked the bottle into her pocket. “Thank you, George.”

~xXx~

After they left the Burrow, Draco and Hermione stopped in at the Ministry so Hermione could let Samuels, the head of the DMLE, know that Harry and Ron would be off the radar for a while but safe and sound. Samuels was annoyed. 

“Those two are far too cocky for their own good,” he grumbled. “Saviours of the wizarding world or no, they need to follow procedure! I’ll be having stern words with them when they return.”

“Harry and Ron always did have a terrible lack of regard for authority,” Hermione nodded sympathetically. “They frustrated me no end when we were on the run hunting Horcruxes.”

“You’re a bloody wonder, putting up with those two and keeping them in line,” the man complimented her, his face full of admiration. “You’d do really well in this department, Miss Granger. Anytime you want to transfer from Muggle Liaison, you just let me know.”

“Thank you, Mr Samuels. I’ll keep that in mind.”

They left before Samuels could make any further attempts to convince her to join the DMLE. After the stress and intensity of the war, being involved in Magical Law Enforcement was the last thing she wanted. She was well-placed, of course, working in the Muggle Liaison Office as a Muggle-born with a foot firmly planted in both worlds. It also suited her methodical nature and allowed for plenty of research. 

Finally, they made a quick stop at a supermarket for wrapped sandwiches, bottles of water, and some ready-made meals. Hermione found herself regretting taking Draco, as the wizard had never seen a “supper market” before and was fascinated by the many shelves of products and items for sale. Every few feet he would stop, grab something he wasn’t familiar with, and examine it, reading the name carefully and asking questions about what Muggles used it for.  When they had finally arrived at the checkout, he had been entranced by the range of confectionery on display, demanding sweets and insisting they buy one of everything.

“Honestly, Draco, you’re like a child,” she exclaimed in exasperation as they left, Draco triumphantly clutching his bag of goodies.

“I don’t care,” Draco replied smugly. “You can’t expect me to walk past all those Muggle sweets and chocolates and not test them! I need to know if they’re as good as wizarding ones.”

Hermione just clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes.  "Hush! Someone will hear you talking about wizards and Muggles and think you're mad."

With the food and drinks in hand, they Apparated back to Essex and approached the house. All was silent at first, until Hermione cheerfully called out, “We’re back, boys! Are you having fun?”

Immediately, Ron and Harry began banging on the door and shouting to be let out, saying they were sorry and begging forgiveness.

Hermione went to the small flap and unlatched it. “Here, I’ve brought you some sandwiches and water.”

“Finally! I thought you were going to starve us!” Ron’s petulant voice came from the other side of the door. He snatched up one of the packets and Hermione could hear him tearing it open.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry called, looking through the flap. “When are you going to let us out?”

“I’m not sure,” she shrugged. “When did you two plan to let  _ me _ out?” Silence. Harry’s face withdrew. “Oh, I remember,” she continued. “You said you’d let me out when I came to my senses. So I think it’s only fair I offer you the same condition.”

“Come on, Hermione! We made a mistake!” Harry exploded.

“A pretty fucking big one! How could you kidnap your friend and lock her up in a room?” Draco added angrily. Hermione put a hand on his arm.

“Draco, why don’t you go and try some of those sweets we got at the supermarket?” she suggested.

“Yuth goth sveeth?” Ron called, his mouth clearly full. “Can I have some?”

“No, Ronald,” Hermione said firmly. “You don’t deserve sweets.”

Draco giggled obnoxiously from behind her. “Yeah, Weasel. You’ve been  _ naughty _ . No sweets for you.”

“No one asked you, ferret,” Ron answered back snidely.

“That’s enough, you two,” Hermione interrupted. “Harry, Ron, you have your food and drink. Does your chamber pot want emptying?” She heard footsteps moving away from the door, then returning. The chamber pot, half full, was unceremoniously pushed through the flap. Hermione took it away and dealt with the contents before returning it, dropping the flap closed again, and latching it shut.

“Right, we’re off,” she said. “We’ll be back this evening to give you your dinner.”

“Hermione, wait—” Ron called.

“Bye, then,” she sang. She led the way out and Draco followed, making sure to take his bag of sweets with him.

~xXx~

  
They arrived at Hermione’s flat and she sighed in relief. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” she told Draco. “You can have one after, if you’d like.” His eyes darkened at the suggestion, and she was almost overcome by the sudden urge to invite him to join her.

“Um. Right. I’ll just—” she pointed awkwardly in the direction of her bathroom. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you’re hungry or thirsty.” She scurried off to the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her. “Get a hold of yourself, woman,” she muttered. “You’re acting like a silly bloody schoolgirl.” Hermione turned the water on and stripped off, stepping quickly under the spray. The events of the past few weeks swam past her closed eyes. She was both amused and perturbed by how quickly things had escalated - not only in terms of Harry and Ron’s meddling but in terms of her connection with Draco.

How had they gone from cautiously friends to her declaring him as her boyfriend - and finding that she  _ meant  _ it? She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she was fond of Draco. She liked his sometimes self-deprecating humor, his cleverness, his snark, and his adorable cluelessness when it came to Muggles and the Muggle world. He understood her sense of humor and cleverness and truly respected her magical abilities in a way many others didn’t. She felt— Hermione scrunched up her face, trying to think of the right word. Suddenly, it came to her. She felt  _ valued _ when she was with Draco. She felt like a capable, strong woman who was worthy. It made her smile. 

Once she had finished washing, Hermione got out, hurrying to her bedroom with her towel around her to change into a pair of shorts and a tank. She came out to find Draco dozing on the couch and gently shook him. “The shower’s free,” she said quietly, with a smile.

“Oh,” Draco grunted, jolting awake. “Great, thanks.”

“Towels are behind the curtain next to the bath,” Hermione advised as he shuffled towards the bathroom.

She went into the kitchen to find a steaming cup of tea on the counter, made just the way she liked it, with a warming charm applied to keep it hot. She picked up the cup, taking a long sip, and smiled in satisfaction. Rummaging through the fridge, she pulled out tomatoes, lettuce, and dressing for a salad and set potatoes to peeling, chopping into chips, and frying. By the time Draco emerged, pink from the shower and wrapped in a fluffy yellow towel with his shirt loosely buttoned, she had lunch on the table. They ate heartily, and soon the food was gone. Hermione stifled a yawn, which set Draco off, and she giggled. 

“Time for a nap, I think,” she suggested. “We didn’t get much sleep last night, what with implementing our plan and all.” Hermione got up and Draco followed. He started to move towards the couch, but she stopped him. “You can share my bed,” she said softly.   
  


“Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes searching her face.

“I’m sure,” she nodded. Taking his hand, she led him to her small bedroom.

Once they were inside, Hermione suddenly felt shy and nervous. She didn’t know why. It wasn’t like she was a virgin — she and Ron had attempted sex twice before realising they weren’t compatible — but this felt different. She was certain that she wanted to have sex with Draco, but wasn’t sure that she wanted to take that step tonight.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” Draco said softly from behind her, seeming to sense her hesitancy.

“Thank you,” she replied, smiling up at him. “I want to, I do. It’s just that—” 

“I understand,” Draco reassured her, reaching out to cup her cheek and place a gentle kiss on her forehead. He summoned his trousers from the bathroom and transfigured them into pyjama bottoms. Hermione turned away while he put them on, blushing at the thought of him naked underneath his towel.

She turned back to face him and gasped as she saw his bare chest for the first time. There were several prominent scars from where Harry had hit him with the  _ Sectumsempra _ curse in sixth year, despite Snape’s efforts with the countercurse.

“Oh, Draco,” she whispered, approaching him and reaching out hesitantly. She looked at him for permission and he nodded silently. Hermione stretched out her fingers and gently ran them over the raised, red lines that marred his otherwise perfect porcelain skin. He tensed up at her touch but did not stop her. “Do they still hurt?” she asked him, looking into his eyes. She saw shame there and apprehension. It hurt her heart. Despite the marks, she still found him incredibly handsome. Besides, looks weren't everything, as she well knew.

“Very rarely,” Draco replied. “Sometimes if I exercise too hard they ache a bit, but otherwise they just sit there, looking ugly.”

“I don’t think they look ugly at all,” Hermione argued. “It makes you look—” she paused and furrowed her brow as she looked back at his chest, one hand resting flat over his sternum, trying to think of the right way to describe him. “—It makes you look more  _ real,” _ she continued after a moment, searching his face once more. “Most of us wear our scars on the inside, but you - you wear them on the outside as well. It’s a sign of survival. You  _ survived _ , Draco. Don’t ever be ashamed of surviving or of your scars.”

“Thank you,” Draco whispered, closing his eyes and closing his hand over hers. “It means a great deal to me to hear you say that.”

“Come on,” Hermione urged. “Let’s get some sleep so we can go mess with Ron and Harry some more.” They got into bed and Draco reached for her, pulling her into her arms and moulding his body to hers. Hermione sighed in satisfaction. Being in his arms like this felt so  _ right. _ The last thought that went through her head before she fell asleep was  _ I want every day to be like this. _

~xXx~

  
When Hermione woke, it was getting dark. Draco’s arms were still around her, and he was snoring softly. She took a moment to enjoy the feeling, then sighed regretfully. She supposed she’d better get up and heat the ready-made meals for Harry and Ron’s dinner. Draco groaned softly as she slid free of his embrace but didn’t immediately wake. Hermione got dressed and padded out to the kitchen, waving her wand to turn on the stove and set the kettle to boiling. While she was waiting, she got the meals out of the fridge, poked holes in the plastic covers and set them on the counter. The kettle began to whistle and Hermione set about making hot drinks.

“Do I smell coffee?” came a voice, and she turned around to smile at the sleepy blond wizard standing in her kitchen doorway.

“Yes,” she answered, passing him a steaming cup. He nodded in thanks, kissing her cheek, and wandered over to the counter to examine the waiting meals.

“What in Godric’s name is  _ that? _ ” Draco asked, looking at the containers in distaste.

“They’re ready-made meals that can be heated in an oven and then eaten right away,” she explained, smiling at his reaction.

“They don’t look very appetising,” he commented, giving one of the plastic covers a sharp jab with his finger.

“They certainly aren’t restaurant quality,” Hermione agreed, “but they do in a pinch if you’re short on time or can’t be bothered to cook.” She placed the containers into the heated oven, setting the timer, then sat at the table to drink her cup of tea.

“So how long are you going to leave them in that house?” Draco asked, leaning back against the counter. The movement showcased his sculpted torso and muscular arms. Hermione found it quite distracting to look at.

“I’m not sure,” she answered, frowning slightly. “I kept Rita Skeeter in a jar four days, so—”

“Wait,” Draco interrupted, his eyes alight with mischievous glee as he leaned forward with interest. “You kept Rita Skeeter in a jar?”

“Yes, I kept her in a jar,” Hermione replied, with a smirk. “Because she needed to be taught a lesson. She was sneaking around, spying on people, telling horrible lies, and generally just being an awful woman.”

“How did you catch her?”

“I’d suspected for some time that she was getting into Hogwarts unobserved,” Hermione explained. “Harry had made a comment about her ‘bugging’ the castle — that’s a Muggle term for planting small listening devices in a room or object so you can hear others’ conversations. I began researching and I worked out she must be an  _ unregistered _ Animagus. I finally caught her in the hospital wing while Harry was recovering after the final task. I put her in a jar with an unbreakable charm so she couldn’t escape, and told her she had to keep her quill to herself for a whole year or I would expose her.”

“Tricky witch,” Draco laughed. “So that’s why she went quiet after the end of fifth year.”

“Indeed,” Hermione nodded. The oven dinged, and Hermione removed the meals from the oven while Draco excused himself to get dressed. When he returned, she was just sprinkling the bottle of George’s nightmare serum over the meals. 

Magically resealing the plastic covers, she winked at Draco. “Let’s go deliver those boys their five-star meals,” she grinned.

“Yes, let’s not keep them waiting,” he replied with a smirk. 

They arrived moments later at their unofficial apparition point and Draco remarked, “You never  _ did _ answer my question earlier. When will you let them out?”

Hermione considered and sighed. “I suppose I better let them out tomorrow evening.”

“They don’t deserve you as a friend, you know,” Draco commented as they passed through the wards, walking towards the house. “They treat you like shite sometimes, and you always forgive them.”

“They can be very thoughtless,” Hermione agreed. “But they were my first friends at Hogwarts. If I hadn’t fallen in with them, I’d have had a very lonely time at school, I suspect.” Hermione unlocked the door. “Dinner time,” she sang. “Are you hungry?”

“Hermione,” the cries started up immediately. “Let us out!”

“Not yet,” she said firmly, unlatching the small flap and pushing their meals and two more bottles of water through. Ron’s hands darted forward and grabbed both containers.

“Oi!” Harry’s indignant voice came from the other side. “One of those is for me, Ron, you greedy pig!”

“But they’re so tiny!” Ron whined. “Hermione, this isn’t  _ all _ , is it?”

“I’m afraid it is,” Hermione replied cheerily. “I said I’d keep you fed, not full.”

“But—” Ron argued.

“Chamber pot, please,” Hermione interrupted primly. The pot was pushed through, and, once again, Hermione emptied and returned it. She reached into her bag and pulled out a packet of wet wipes, sliding them through. “In case you want to freshen up,” she explained in a teasing tone.

“Hermione,” Draco said from the hallway. “What are  _ we  _ having for dinner?” 

“I don’t know,” she replied thoughtfully, turning to face him. “Any suggestions?”

Draco thought for a moment, then brightened. “Can we get that Thai stuff you were eating the other night?”

“You’re having Thai?” came Ron’s outraged voice from behind the door. “That’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair, Ronald,” Hermione sniped, closing and latching the flap. “Goodnight, boys.” Winking at Draco, she led the way out of the building.

~xXx~

  
Harry and Ron sat mournfully on the mattress, their chins in their hands.

“We really fucked up,” Harry admitted. “We never should have done what we did.”

“But we were only trying to look out for her!” Ron argued.

“Yes, I  _ know _ that, Ron,” Harry snapped. “But it doesn’t make it right, and we need to stop making excuses and admit fault. It’s the only way she’s going to forgive us and set us free.”

“I suppose,” Ron grumbled. He was still hungry, and being hungry made him irritable.

“I still want to know how she got away,” Harry continued. “There was nothing on that island that she could have used, I’m certain of it.”

“Maybe she transfigured something into a boat?” Ron suggested.

“But how, with no wand?” Harry challenged.

“I dunno, maybe she figured out a way around it.”

“Maybe,” Harry replied doubtfully. “Anything’s possible with Hermione.”

“It’s going to be a long night,” Ron observed despondently.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed.

Later that night, both men experienced some of the most terrifying nightmares of their lives. More disturbingly, they were almost identical. Ron and Harry both revisited the incident that had landed them in this situation but things had gone terribly awry. They had killed her with too much sleeping draught, she had fallen off the side of the cliff and her body had been smashed to pieces on the rocks below, she had tried to swim away and drowned, she had wandered in the woods, tripped and broken her neck—

Ron and Harry both awoke with gasps, shuddering, their bodies covered in sweat.

“We’re bastards, Ron,” Harry said mournfully. “Anything could have happened to her, and it would have been all our fault.”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. 

~xXx~

  
Meanwhile, Hermione and Draco enjoyed a fine meal at a Thai restaurant near Hermione’s flat. Draco marvelled at the decor and argued passionately that they should try everything on the menu, much to her chagrin. Eventually, she managed to wear him down to selecting a set menu, which even then was designed to cater to four people instead of two. Later, when they were both very full and still surrounded by food, she raised an eyebrow at him.

“I told you it would be too much for the two of us to manage on our own,” Hermione teased. “Your eyes were bigger than your stomach.”

“It was worth it,” Draco retorted.

“It’s a good thing we can take the rest of it home in doggy bags,” Hermione smiled. “It would be a pity for it to go to waste.”

“We can take it home?” Draco brightened, then frowned in confusion. “But will they really put it in bags? Won’t it make the paper go all soggy?”

Hermione laughed. “They won’t really put it in bags,” she explained. “It’s just a turn of phrase to describe taking away the leftovers. They’ll put it in containers.” She signalled to one of the waitstaff and made the request. The woman nodded and took away the plates, returning several minutes later bearing plastic containers with the food inside.

Once they had paid and left the restaurant, they stood on the street, looking at each other.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Draco asked.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Hermione invited at the same time.

They laughed. “We could rent a film,” she suggested. “There’s a video shop round the corner from my flat.”

“I’ve never done that,” Draco replied with interest. “Lead the way.” Clasping hands, they strolled through the streets. 

As with the supermarket, Hermione came to regret taking Draco to the video shop. She was forced to limit him to three tapes, and he took  _ forever _ to select the ones he wanted, asking lots of questions about each. Finally, they made their way to the counter with his choices - _ Men in Black, Jurassic Park _ and  _ I Know What You Did Last Summer _ . He spied the snacks display and grinned at her. 

Hermione groaned. “Draco, we’ve  _ just _ eaten our weight in Thai food - how can you even entertain the  _ idea _ of snacks right now?”

“It’s not a movie night without popcorn and chips, mate,” the man behind the counter winked at Draco. 

“What’s best?” Draco asked the man keenly, eyeing the array of choices.

“These ones here, for sure,” the man suggested, pointing at several items. 

Draco immediately grabbed everything the man had suggested and laid it on the counter. “We’ll take it,” he said firmly.

“Gods, my stomach will explode,” Hermione muttered beside him, shaking her head as she handed her membership card to the attendant. 

After they had paid up, Hermione briskly led them back to her apartment building before Draco could encounter any more shops. Once inside, Draco popped home through her Floo briefly to collect a change of clothing and other small items. 

When he returned, he announced, “Mother has invited you to dinner tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Hermione balked. “But it’s such short notice! Did I make a good impression last time?”

“You made an excellent impression,” Draco reassured her. “She already likes you. Please come.” He looked at her with big, soulful eyes, and she knew she was powerless to resist.

“All right,” she agreed quietly.

“Brilliant. She’ll be so pleased,” Draco beamed.

“I do have one condition,” Hermione added suddenly, as a thought occurred to her.

“Anything,” Draco promised, smiling indulgently and taking her in his arms.

“Will you show me your library afterwards?” Her heart beat faster in anticipation of the possibility.  _ All those lovely books, just waiting to be discovered! _

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Of course! And, you must meet my ancestors. It will be quite an experience for everyone involved.”

Hermione laughed too and slapped him lightly on the chest. “You’re incorrigible, Draco Malfoy.”

“I do my best,” he replied, smirking cheekily. Hermione pulled away a little reluctantly — it felt wonderful to be in his arms — and instructed Draco to choose a film while she put the leftover Thai in the fridge. When she returned, he had spread the snacks out on the coffee table and picked  _ Jurassic Park _ . 

On the way home, she had described dinosaurs as similar to dragons but unable to breathe fire and mostly flightless. Draco had been thrilled at the idea, and even more thrilled that the reptiles had actually existed many centuries ago.

“You know, if we used a time turner, we could go back and see  _ real _ dinosaurs,” Draco mused as Hermione set up the tape recorder.

“I don’t think you would want to be up close to a real dinosaur,” Hermione laughed. They settled in to watch the film, with Draco asking questions and running commentary as the events unfolded.

“Faster! Go faster!” he shouted at the screen, on the edge of his seat when the T-Rex was chasing the jeep. Hermione found herself both charmed and frustrated by his enthusiasm. Although she was pleased that he was enjoying it, she wished he would just be  _ quiet _ , for Merlin’s sake. Hopefully, he wouldn’t discover cinemas anytime soon, or he would cause quite an uproar. In saying that, knowing him he would probably insist on doing something utterly ridiculous and spoiled, like privately booking out the whole venue.

When the film ended, Hermione turned to Draco with a smile. “Do you still want to go back and see a real dinosaur?” she teased.

“Absolutely bloody not. You’d be mad to! Positively barking!” Draco insisted.

She laughed and looked at her watch.

“I have to go into the office tomorrow,” she said apologetically. “I’ll have to have an early night.”

“But I wanted to watch another film,” Draco pouted.

“You’re welcome to stay up and watch another if you’d like,” she offered, although she wasn’t sure she trusted Draco with using the VCR and remote unsupervised just yet. He had been all too enthusiastic about the remote when she started the film and insisted on pushing the buttons himself.

“I don’t want to watch one without you,” he argued, still pouting. Hermione sighed. She had hoped he wasn’t going to be difficult.

“Well, I need to get some sleep,” she replied. “You’re welcome to stay up or come to bed. I’ll probably read for a bit.”

“What books do you have?” Draco asked, his previous sulk suddenly forgotten as he sat up in interest.

Hermione showed him to her overflowing bookshelves, then went to get ready for bed. By the time she had brushed her teeth and changed into her pyjamas, he had picked out a novel -  _ Fight Club _ . Soon he had completed his own ablutions, and they were lying side by side, noses in their books. Hermione thought to herself for the second time how much she would like to do this every day. She glanced over at Draco and smiled. When she eventually turned off her bedside light and bade him goodnight, he embraced her once again.

“I could do this every night,” he murmured against her back.

“Me, too,” she said softly.

~xXx~

  
The next day was hectic for Hermione. She had risen early so she could take Ron and Harry their breakfasts, once again ignoring their protests and dodging their questions. Then she hurried on to work, ducking out again at lunchtime to take the boys some sandwiches, before rushing home at five to get ready for dinner at Malfoy Manor. Draco had owled her during the day to say they were expected at half-past seven and to ask if she wanted him to accompany her when she let out Ron and Harry. She had decided to let them out before dinner, given the change in plans, though she wondered whether her friends had entirely come to their senses yet. She tucked their wands into her robes. Her Floo roared and Draco stepped through, greeting her with a smile and a kiss. 

They arrived at the apparition point and made their way briskly to the house. Together, they removed the wards and magic-suppression charms before entering. Arriving at the door to the room, Hermione unlocked it, letting it swing open. Ron and Harry rushed forward, stammering apologies. 

She held up a hand to stop them. “Have you learned your lesson?” she asked sternly.

“Yes,” Harry replied, looking shamefaced. “We did a shitty thing. We betrayed your trust and didn’t listen to you. We let our feelings about Malfoy—” he glanced at the wizard in question, giving him a mistrustful look, “—get in the way of our judgement.”

Hermione turned to look expectantly at Ron. “Yeah,” Ron mumbled, looking at his feet. “What Harry said. Sorry, ‘Mione.” Hermione knew he had always been terrible at apologies - he just couldn’t articulate the words as well as some others, and he  _ hated _ admitting he was wrong. ( _ See: _ The Triwizard Tournament and his belief that Harry had put his own name in the Goblet without letting Ron in on the secret method.)

“Apology accepted,” Hermione nodded magnanimously. She handed them back their wands. “We’ve lifted the magic-repelling charms and wards. You can use magic, now.” Ron and Harry nodded their thanks, both looking very relieved to be free of the room and the restrictions on their magic. “Oh!” she continued, remembering George’s serum. “How did you two sleep last night?” She regarded them with interest.

“Like shite,” Ron grumbled. “We both had terrible nightmares.”

“Oh? What were they about?” Hermione glanced from one to the other, trying to suppress her smirk.

“Terrible things. Things we’d rather not talk about,” Harry muttered, looking down at his feet.

“Did they happen to be related to something you felt badly about?” she prodded.

“Yes. How did you—” Harry said suspiciously. “You slipped us something else, didn’t you?” Ron just spluttered incoherently at the realisation, his face turning red.

“Just consider it another part of your lesson,” Hermione responded lightly. “It was your own guilty conscience that prompted those dreams. That, and one of George’s serums. Do be sure and tell him all about your experiences, won’t you? He’ll be pleased as punch.” 

“How could you—!” Ron started. He shut his mouth with a snap following the glare Hermione gave him. “Er—right. I suppose we deserved that.” She nodded in satisfaction and turned on her heel, leading the party out of the house.

“Hermione,” Harry said once they were outside, “How  _ did _ you get off the island?” 

“Oh, that,” Hermione grinned. “Yes, I never did get a chance to tell you about that, did I?”

“You transfigured something into a boat, right?” Ron asked.

“Nope.” Hermione shook her head. “Besides, how would I do that with no wand and with magic-suppressing charms restricting my magic?”

“Really? I was sure that must have been it.” The red-headed man looked crestfallen that his theory had turned out to be incorrect.

“Come on, don’t hold out on us!” Harry urged. Both men looked at her expectantly.

“I flew,” Hermione said airily. 

“You...flew?” Ron repeated, squinting at her like she’d started speaking another language he didn’t fully understand.

“Yes, I flew.”

“But…  _ how?” _

“On a broom, of course,” she replied. “I couldn’t very well fly any other way.”

“But… you  _ can’t  _ fly,” Ron argued feebly, confusion written all over his face.

“And where in Merlin’s name did you find a broom?” Harry added, finally finding his voice.

“In that old shed, behind the door,” Hermione explained. 

“There was a broom in the shed this whole time?” Ron complained.

“Yes, there was. Did you even check the shed at all?” Harry and Ron shook their heads mutely, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Hang on,” Harry said. “Since when can you fly? Whenever we tried to teach you, it was a disaster.”

“That’s because you two are terrible teachers,” Draco chimed in, his signature smirk in place. “I, however, am an excellent one.” Ron looked dumbly from Hermione to Draco and back again, no less confused than before. Harry, however, was frowning.

“Are you implying  _ you _ taught her, Malfoy?” he asked tightly, his jaw clenched.

“Oh no, I’m not  _ implying, _ ” Draco boasted. “I  _ did  _ teach her. In one lesson.”

“Bullshit!” Ron burst out, his face red. “You’re just messing with us! Hermione, he’s messing with us, right?” he turned rather desperately to her with a beseeching expression.

“Actually, he’s not,” Hermione replied, grinning widely. “He did teach me in one lesson and did a very good job. It’s thanks to him that I got away.” She considered telling them what had happened after she arrived on the mainland and decided not to. It would just cause more arguments, and they would no doubt blame Draco for the state she had been in when Orion found her.

Harry and Ron looked betrayed. “I can’t believe  _ Malfoy _ taught you to fly and we couldn’t,” Harry grumbled.

“Shouldn’t you be congratulating her, instead of thinking of yourselves?” Draco asked. “It doesn’t matter  _ who _ taught her. She conquered something that challenged her.” Harry and Ron fell silent, looking suitably chastened at Draco’s words, but at the same time put out that it was him saying it.

“Thank you, Draco,” Hermione nodded. She glanced at her watch. “Oh Gods, we’re going to be late for dinner with your mother!”

Draco looked at his own wrist. “Merlin’s balls!” he cursed. “We better go.”

“I’m sure you two can find your own way home,” Hermione said, turning to her friends. “Owl me later.”

“Wait, Hermione—” Ron started, but Draco took her arm and Apparated her away before he could say anything further.

~xXx~

  
They arrived back at Hermione’s flat and she rushed about in a panic, flicking through the hangers in her closet, trying to pick out makeup, and tying up her hair.

“Hermione,” Draco laughed, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders to stall her. “Calm down. It won’t be a formal dinner. You don’t need to go to too much trouble.”

“What should I wear, then?” she worried, biting her bottom lip and glancing nervously back towards her wardrobe.

“Just a blouse and skirt or something,” Draco shrugged.

Hermione looked at him, disbelieving. “ _ Just  _ a blouse and skirt?”

“I promise it will be fine,” he reassured her. “She won’t care what you’re wearing. She just wants to see you again.”

“Okay,” Hermione nodded. Turning back to her wardrobe, she selected a silk crimson blouse and black three-quarter skirt, completing the look with tan pumps. Then she applied a light coloured eyeshadow and mascara, electing to forego lipstick, and tied her hair up in a bun.

“How do I look?” she asked hesitantly.

“Beautiful,” Draco smiled, pulling her into an embrace and kissing her soundly. 

Hermione moaned softly and melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he tightened his grip around her waist. Draco deepened the kiss and Hermione found herself grateful he was holding her so firmly, else she may have collapsed bonelessly to the floor under his intoxicating assault on her lips. Eventually, they pulled apart both slightly flushed.

“So,” Draco began hesitantly, “Where do we go from here? Are we—exclusive?”

“Most certainly,” Hermione replied, smiling. “I’m all-in.”

He grinned at her. “I’m all-in, too.” He bent his head to hers and captured her lips in another fiery, passionate kiss that made her feel lighter than air. “Maybe we can skip dinner,” Draco murmured into her mouth. Hermione was sorely tempted to agree, but her sense of duty prevented her. She pulled away from him with a small sigh of regret.

“No, I don’t want to disappoint Narcissa,” she said. “Come on, we’d better go.” She picked up her bag while Draco collected a handful of Floo powder. 

“Malfoy Manor!” He called out, and, taking her hand, they stepped through the flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed - thanks for reading. Please let me know your thoughts! I value your kudos and comments X


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